


The Rebirth of Azem

by unassumingvenusaur



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Abusive Parents, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bad Ending, Bad Parenting, Betrayal, Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Corruption, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, Gotta apologize for fans of so many chars everyone hurts here sfjsdj, Heroes to Villains, Hints of WoLShtola and Thancred/WoL but nothing explicit there yet, Hurt No Comfort, Identity Issues, Indulgence truly off the charts on this one, Mind Manipulation, Patch 5.0: Shadowbringers, Patch 5.3: Reflections in Crystal Spoilers, Recovered Memories, Sahri is wrong here plz dont take these as my actual feelings killing millions is bad, Tempering (Final Fantasy XIV), The last few are for Emet & Varis Emet is a bad grandpa, hurting the catboy. a lot, i hurt because i love, idk if there will be, if you want my real feelings there's the fic this is derived from, mid-5.0, mild self-injury warning in ch 1, probably some one-sided zenos/wol idk that boy is horny
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-11
Updated: 2021-01-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:41:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 29,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28013340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unassumingvenusaur/pseuds/unassumingvenusaur
Summary: In a moment of weakness, Sahri gives into her despair and takes Emet-Selch's hand, shedding her identity and irrevocably changing the fate of the star.
Relationships: Azem/Solus zos Galvus | Emet-Selch, G'raha Tia | Crystal Exarch/Warrior of Light, Solus zos Galvus | Emet-Selch/Warrior of Light
Comments: 5
Kudos: 46





	1. Persephone

**Author's Note:**

> This is an alternate ending to the chapter "Dying Hope" (Ch. 14 on Ao3) of my previous fic [_Her Name_](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27800083), so you'll probably need that for context. Though if you just want to read this on its own anyway, be my guest lol
> 
> I have other scenes in mind for this but not a full story arc and idk when I'll write those, so I thought I'd go ahead and post this as a one-off til I have more. 
> 
> The Warrior of Light in this fic is named Sahri Rhoshaan...until she's not.

Sahri’s hand trembles, hovering ilms above Emet’s own. ‘Come back to me…’ echoes through her head. ‘Marry me…’ ‘Come home…’ ‘Marry me…’ ‘Come back to me…’ 

The world spins around Sahri at a dizzying pace. Images blur through her head, images of the entire life she’d lived up until now, images of a life she’d forgotten that made her choke back sobs...and so very many pairs of eyes. Ones she recognized, ones she did not…

She swallows hard, closing her own eyes as she resolves to make her choice. 

Sahri lowers her hand. 

  
  
  
  


Sahri lowers her hand, it coming to rest on Emet's own. Palm against palm. She trembles, moving to curl Emet’s hand over hers. Slowly, she turns her head up to look upon the man’s face. Gods, the way he smiled at her...There was a self-satisfaction, to be certain, but also such happiness…She knew it, she held it so dearly, that smile...

“Al...Alright,” she manages to get out through tears, in utter shock and disbelief at what she’d done. “Show me...Show me the worth of this world you so desire to restore, Emet. I want to be whole. I want...to remember who I was…” 

And she did….she did want that. Who wouldn’t? She asks that to the guilt which threatens to tear her soul to pieces. To the disappointed faces of the Scions...Of Haurchefant, of Ysayle, of...Gods damn it all, was it really so wrong? Was it wrong to want for herself for once, rather than continue to labour for the goddess, for the world which could only take and take and take everything from her…?

“You’ve made a most wise decision. At long last, the Convocation may stand united...” Emet is grinning ear to ear. The hand Sahri is not holding comes to rest on her cheek, and she leans into it. It is no longer gloved, she notices. His skin is so warm...so soothing…

“Though if I may offer a correction,” he continues. “It is not who you _were_ , my dear, but who you _are_. In taking my hand, you’ve rejected that beast’s warped reimagining of you,” he says, continuing ever forward. Closer to her...Closer to her heart. He was so close… “This…‘Sahri Rhoshaan,’ her pet Warrior of Light.” 

It was the first time he’d ever said that name...And yet, it had never sounded so alien as it did in his voice. She feels a pang of disgust, but she still knew no other way to refer to herself…

“She...She does not get to define who I am,” Sahri declares. She grips the man’s hand tighter and musters the resolve to stay her trembling. 

“That’s right,” Emet affirms, squeezing her hand back. “She does not, and she could never--If only you do not allow her to. Even now, the voice she’s planted in you must be objecting, no? How helpless it is to stop you.” His voice grows louder as he speaks. “How helpless she always was to keep you from us.”

For some reason, her confidence grows with his. He’s right, she realizes--there is a voice other than her own crying out inside of her. Insisting that Hydaelyn had only ever done good for her...Even when that was demonstrably false. Claiming she was just, she was kind… Sahri pushes it aside--No, she _squashes_ it and any influence it could have over her. She did not have to be the destroyer’s puppet...and that fact was overwhelmingly satisfying. She’s shocked to feel a small, tentative smile rise to her face.

“If...If Hydaelyn wanted an obedient slave, she should have gorged me on her aether when she had the chance.” Emet beams at her.

“There it is. The refusal to cede your will to others. I missed it terribly.” 

Sahri’s heart squeezes at the praise, at the affection...Yet before she can respond with her own, the man digs through his pocket and pulls out yet a new item. Slipping his hand from her hold to instead rest beneath hers, he sets the object on her palm. An orange crystal which glows at her touch, in its center a most distinctive marking--a dot surrounded by a much larger circle. _The sun_ , Sahri immediately thinks, though she cannot place why.

“Another gift?” she inquires.

“Yes, though a far more utilitarian one,” Emet explains. “You asked me to show you the worth of the world we lost, but such would be a wasteful effort.” Sahri furrows her brow in confusion. “No one could speak more eloquently to the beauty of our world than you, my dear. For that was your role--the traveler who would come to know the people both within Amaurot and without, learn of their beliefs and cultures...And you rather insisted on adding the task of _helping_ those people as well, often to my frustration. Ah, and yet, it was one of your most endearing qualities…”

“Is...Is that so?” Sahri asks, longing in her heart and tears in her eyes. Yet her smile only brightens. “I suppose I had to win you over somehow…”

“Indeed you did.” Emet grows misty-eyed himself, yet his gaze is no less intense. Sahri finds it utterly entrancing, the guilt over her decision slowly ebbing away. “The true cruelty of Hydaelyn’s claim on you is that not a soul loved our world and its people more. Love was ever your motivator--and it may continue to be.” The man closes her hand around the crystal. 

“Clutch this crystal and remember that love. Remember yourself. Remember, Azem.” 

_Azem._

All the breath leaves Sahri’s body. There it was.

Finally, there it was…

A voice booms in Sahri’s head, speaking in a language she shouldn’t understand but does. A voice she shouldn’t recognize but does--as the man she loves so dearly.

“Herein I commit the chronicle of the traveler,” it begins. “Shepherd to the stars in the dark…”

As it continues to speak, a dam breaks in Sahri’s mind--Memory upon memory surges forth in a torrent. Most prove elusive, refusing to settle down where she can truly _remember_ ...But even adrift, the memories are undeniably there, now. There for her to continue to seek out...Though details may be scarce, the emotion inherent within each was _not_ \--She’s bombarded with sorrow, joy, pain, yet above all...love. Love, just as Emet had told her. Tears roll down her cheeks. Gods, did she ever love her role in the Convocation. She loved her home, she loved her people, she loved _all_ the peoples of the world...Such a powerful, innocent love it was. Yet one love towered above all...She flutters her eyes open and looks upon him.

“I did love them,” she tells him, grinning so hard it hurt. “It was a beautiful, thriving world….Even if I cannot remember the details, I know that to be true…” Emet catches her off-guard by leaning forward and holding her face with two ungloved hands, thumbs wiping at her tears.

“Unfortunately, the crystal did not contain your firsthand accounts, but it seems to have stirred something in you regardless. As I knew it would.” There lingers the slightest hint of smugness in his face, and yet his eyes fill with hope. “Do you remember it, now? Your name?”

Her name…

“...Azem?” she asks him. Emet’s hand slips lower to hold her chin, and he places a thumb on her lower lip.

“So close, my dear,” his shining eyes enthralling Sahri ever the more. “Azem was your title, how the world knew you--but not how I did. Try just a little harder, won’t you? I’m certain it’s there…”

Focusing on Emet’s touch, Sahri closes her eyes. She’s certain, too. Something as vital as her name must reside in at least one of the memories which her mind retains...She sifts through the recent flood, but her attention instead settles upon the memory Emet’s offer had stirred in her--The memory of his proposal. It was the brightest of fragments in her mind...He had said her name, but she had not heard it…

_“I am not often given to such sentiment, but...____, I believe you to be my soul’s mate.”_

Damn her memory, so enfeebled as it was by Hydaelyn’s light. She would not allow such a gap to remain. She hones her focus upon that void of sound--upon the movements of the man’s lips. There was something there...Something. She knew it. She runs through his words again and again, and after significant strain...the silence raises into the lowest of whispers.

“P…” she begins to sound out, exertion evident on her face. “P...Per…Pers...” She was so close. So close. 

“Pers...eph...one.” 

That was it, she realizes. She snaps to attention, eyes wide. 

“Persephone…” she repeats in full, and she smiles at how right it felt. This was right, Sah--No. _Persephone_ thinks. “My name is Persephone,” she affirms, seeing for the first time in this life Hades’ undiluted joy.

“You...You actually remembered.” There is no small surprise in his elated voice. “Persephone…” Oh, to hear it from his voice, there could be no doubt. Even the way he _said_ her name was filled with such devotion..He places a tender kiss to her forehead. “I did not allow myself to wish for this--Not after so many centuries. And yet, part of me knew...No matter how far you wandered, you would come back to me. As you always have…”

As ‘Sahri,’ such intense love--immortal love, love which survived the course of ages--may have been utterly foreign. In this new world, love was too tainted with pain, too tainted with loss, too tainted with finality. But Persephone remembered, now. That was not how love needed to be. Joy swells in her heart, and alongside it some small amusement at such a level of sincerity from this man of all men. Even in the old world, this was a rare, private occurrence for him, she feels.

“You could have saved the both of us much trouble if you’d simply told me my name from the beginning,” Persephone teases. Playfulness rises in the man’s face in turn.

“I needed to be certain,” Emet tells her. “I needed to be certain that there was enough of you gathered to truly call you Persephone, even in an incomplete form.” He smirks. “Besides, where would the fun be in simply telling you? I had to make you work for it, even a little.” Persephone cannot help but giggle.

“Your affinity for the dramatic at times borders on obsession.” She shakes her head, feigning exasperation. “What ever will I do with you, Hades?”

Her love’s eyes widen. Realizing what she’s just said, Persephone raises her hand to her lips. 

“Hades…” she repeats, adoring the feeling of the name on her tongue. “Hades...is your name,” she knows, smiling ever so fondly at the man she’d stunned into an uncommon silence. “Hades, my...my husband…”

Tears fall from Hades’ eyes. Persephone gasps quietly, her heart stirring with the utmost need to comfort the man. She takes hold of his face and pulls him into a gentle kiss, one he immediately returns with passion. Not the endeavours of lust with which he’d claimed her before, but a much more emotional kind of need-- _love_ , she dared to think. 

“I love you,” she tells him between kisses, one of the man’s hands tangling in her hair and the other hugging her tightly against his body. “I love you, Hades...I love you.” She lightly moans into his mouth as their tongues mingle, Persephone desperately clamoring to make up for the eons of love lost between them.

“You…” Hades gasps when they break for breath. His eyes are still wet, but he is smiling. “How peculiar...I no longer believed myself capable of shedding tears. Only you could bring me to such. You have a frightening power...”

“The power of winning your love?” Persephone is teasing, but she also wants to know--She wants to hear him say it.

“My love…” Emet repeats, smirking. He lifts one of Persephone’s hands before him and snaps his fingers. Twin rings materialize on the woman’s finger--One silver with a green gemstone, the other a golden band etched with intricate violet patterns. “There was a reason I made you my wife, after all.”

“Your…” Persephone bursts into tears anew at the word ‘wife.’ The hole in her heart which she’d noticed during she and Hades’ first dalliance in Rak’tika...Finally. Finally, she could feel it being filled. Filled with his love...A love which could never be taken from her. Not by Hydaelyn, not by anyone else...This was the answer she’d been searching for since the day G’raha sealed himself within the Crystal Tower. The answer to a question she’d had to ask herself again and again over the years. How does one love without fear? By remembering the one true form of love, the way it was in the one true world...By forsaking this wretched existence and placing herself once more in the arms of her one true husband. To be his wife was the safest, most joyous decision she could ever make. A decision for eternity. How could she ever choose otherwise?

“I...I love you, Hades…” she swears once more, looking back up to the man. She catches him slipping a wedding band back on his own finger--gods, how her heart stirs. He holds her face, and this time, she feels the cool metal of his ring against her skin.

“And I you, my dearest Persephone,” he swears in turn. “I do not intend to let you slip through my grasp ever again.”

“Nor do I intend to let you slip through mine.” Persephone cannot stop smiling. Hades looks her over, scrutinizing her, before his brows raise in some revelation.

“Ah...That is what has been missing.”

“Missing?” Persephone asks. Hades hands move to her hair, quickly undoing her buns and allowing it all to fall straight. 

“For as long as I can remember, you wore your hair down,” Hades explains. “Long locks, flowing and free...What a captivating sight it was.” 

“Did I…?” She quite liked the sound of that. “Perhaps I should grow it out again, then, to herald my return.” To distance herself from the pitiful semblance of a life she once called hers…

“That sounds like a most excellent idea,” Hades agrees, his voice--his smile--unmistakably tender. 

In lieu of words, Persephone leans against his chest, throwing her arms around him. Hades pulls her atop his lap and squeezes--holding her near-painfully tightly, as if he feared she might vanish at any moment. As if he was worried he’d soon wake up from this lovely dream.

“I’m here, Hades,” she whispers in reassurance. “And I am not going anywhere. I love you, and I will never leave your side again.”

The man says nothing, but she feels his tension ease. He raises one of his hands to her hair and begins to pet her--Persephone’s face heats, and she melts into her husband’s touch. This was comfortable...This was right. This was where she belonged. Her ears wiggle happily, and she purrs…

“...That sound is certainly new,” Hades comments. Persephone immediately seizes with self-consciousness, pushing back slightly from the man’s hold and sheepishly refusing to look him in the eyes.

“I...I apologize.” She grits her teeth. “It is an instinct...i-in this body, that is. I will...I will endeavour to--”

“Oh, come now,” Hades cuts her off. “None of that. I did not ask for your apologies. I’m merely musing that the cosmos has a sense of humor, for you to return to me in the body of a kitten.” He tilts her head up, and Persephone sees he is smirking. “It certainly fits the kind of woman you are. So by all means, kitten--heed your instincts and purr to your heart’s content.”

Persephone’s face flushes ever deeper, and she hides her growing smile by burying it in Hades’ chest. She allows herself to purr, unrestrained, ears perking and twitching at every pet. Hades laughs--She loves the sound. She adores it. It was far more precious than anything this world had to offer. She loses track of how long they sit in each other’s embrace, awash in nostalgia and renewed love. Yet as much as she wishes she could focus on this comfort to the exclusion of all else, she knows she cannot. Her companions will come looking for her before long, and her mind is ever awash in a flow of memories…

“Hades?” she finally says, sliding off the man’s lap and sitting of her own volition.

“Hm?” The man raises a curious brow.

“More...more memories are coming back to me,” Persephone confesses. “Is it true that...I left the Convocation because I opposed Zodiark’s summoning? I...I vaguely recall something about a youth…”

Hades’ face falls. “Ah.” He closes his eyes, pondering his next words. “...That is true,” he confirms with some hesitance. “But understand--I am not asking you to rethink that decision. Believe me, I tried and failed many times. And even I have second-guessed aspects of that choice over the years.” He looks at her, direct and serious. “What I am asking is for you to look at the world in its current state--in the wake of Hydaelyn’s destruction--and to take my hand in mending it. What happens to Zodiark afterwards is quite another matter.”

“No, I understand,” Persephone reassures him, shaking her head. “I may have opposed it, but his summoning is a matter of the past, now. I certainly did not…” She scrunches her face, resting her head in her hand. “I certainly did not support Hydaelyn, either,” she remembers. “No, I was approached by...by someone, about...the matter of her summoning. I...I refused.” 

Hades is visibly relieved. “That, I was not aware of,” he admits. “But it is unsurprising--you were rarely one to compromise your convictions.”

“Yes...And I was correct to decline. What a monster she became...” Persephone reignites Hades’ smirk.

“All too true,” he agrees. “It is as I said before--You, our world’s foremost traveler, know better than any what we have lost.” The man chuckles to himself. “Come to think of it, you’ve also been quite the traveler in this life, have you not? Across all Eorzea, the Source’s seas, even to this parallel shard...Tell me. What do you think of it all, now?”

What she thinks of this world? Now that she once again feels her love of the old...Persephone closes her eyes. 

What, indeed, had her journeys shown her? How eager Hydaelyn’s mankind was to assert itself as superior to others, for one. Whether that be Gridania’s Wildwood elezen towards the miqo’te and Duskwight, Eorzea’s ‘spoken’ towards its so-called ‘beastmen,’ Garleans considering themselves some sort of master race...There was the cruelty of primals’ enthrallment, the meaninglessness of death...So many died in the name of formless values, petty conflict over territory, race, religion, only to be extolled as martyrs. And thus their deaths lead even more to give themselves to meaningless sacrifice. So quickly was man willing to cast their fellow man to the flames for his own power, his own satisfaction, his own pride…

Persephone recalls the plight of the Ala Mhigans, their vain struggle for freedom from a tyrant--one replaced with another as soon as he fell. How those who fled as refugees, such as she, were rejected by their so-called brothers and sisters--condemned and ignored as outsiders in Gridania, abused and relegated to the most pathetic of settlements in Ul’dah. She’d hidden her refugee status all throughout her childhood, even her first years as “Warrior of Light.” For she knew that the instant she confessed, her life would irrevocably change. The shame, the fear she’d felt as a girl over her origins...It was disgusting for any child to have to feel as such.

Ah, and who could forget the glee with which Merlwyb and Limsa Lominsa tore apart carefully crafted treaties? The stranglehold of wealth over Ul’dah’s people by the ever-conniving Syndicate, the vanity of Hearers who would use fear of the so-called Elementals to enact their own prideful agendas? The heinous atrocities of Ishgard in betraying their draconic allies, then launching a thousand year war against them? In Doma and Ala Mhigo both, there were those who would gladly fight and kill the people from which they came for their own self-advancement. Meanwhile, Garlemald subjected its own to gruesome experiments which mocked nature itself. And of course, there was Eulmore’s free, readily exploiting the most desperate and hungry who came their way, while only perpetuating the circumstances which led to such desperation…

Abhorrent. Abominable. Unconscionable. The disgusting acts of disgusting creatures. Never had Persephone allowed this rage to flow through her so freely, and never had it felt more justified. 

The Scions of the Seventh Dawn and their associates were perhaps the purest distillation of this humanity’s capacity for hope, and how were they rewarded? Corpses strewn about the Waking Sands. Wilred’s murder at the hands of those meant to be his comrades, corrupted by money’s free flow. Charged with regicide and heads hunted in Ul’dah, inner circle constantly culled, dragged into conflict after conflict, tragedy after tragedy that should not have been theirs but became so. Theirs was a hope Persephone had held onto desperately, but part of her had always known it to be hollow. Human strife would never cease, and now she understood why. This was not all there was. 

“My travels have proven to me...that these worlds are beyond saving,” Persephone declares. “They are a pale shadow of what could be--have a new cruelty hidden around every corner. No matter how its people strive to better themselves, they will always fall short, because they are born fundamentally inadequate.” She clenches her fist before her. “They pretend to be diverse and rich in culture, but they are not--Not as the old world was.” That is what her formless love told her, after all, and she was inclined to believe it. “Deep down, they are all the same. It does not deserve to be, Hades. None of it does.”

A hand comes to rest on her back. Hades looks upon her with the utmost approval. 

“That even you, contained of so much love, would say as much proves man’s folly once and for all.” There is a scheme brewing behind his eyes. “You possess an unparalleled capacity to learn about worlds and their peoples. And as such...You possess an unparalleled capacity to learn how to destroy them.” 

“That...does make sense,” Persephone admits. ...Talking about this all was one matter, but despite everything...despite everything she knew...The thought of raising her hand against the world stirred a tug of guilt at her heart. It was not Hydaelyn’s pull. No. It was...that of her friends, the people in this world who she loved…

“My, be careful not to contort your face like that for much longer. You’ll start to get wrinkles, dear.” Hades rubs her back. “I take it you still have your doubts?” 

“Not...quite.” Persephone sighs. “It will simply...be difficult to face…”

“Ah, your former allies?” he interrupts. “I do have some advice on that front, if I may.”

Persephone tilts her head. “I’m listening.” 

“You must keep in mind how very special you are to be able to see the justice of our path,” Hades begins. “A staggeringly miniscule number of those born into this world are able to even conceive of it. It is touching that the love in your heart looms so large--so large that even now, you feel something for these pitiful fragments of life. But no matter how you plead, how you explain yourself, how much you believe you love them, Persephone--the vast majority will never understand. Never. They are incapable of it. They will label you the villain without fail.” A wide smile rises to his face.

“So give them the villain they crave, I say.” 

“What...do you mean by that?” Persephone asks him, tapping her cheek in thought.

“Look at it this way,” he suggests. “They may be woefully ungrateful, but ultimately, you are doing this for their own good. Each and every one will thank you once their soul is restored. Bringing about the Rejoining is the kindest thing you will ever do for them.” The self-contentment on his face is nigh overwhelming. “So if for the time being they insist on making you the villain, don’t fight it. No, put on your grandest performance for them--give them a smile, a maniacal laugh, engage them in their banter. It is all a farce, anyway. You might as well give them a good show. Besides, a convincing villain--or villainess, in your case--is the most effective in spurring a would-be hero forward.”

“So I should embrace being the villainess…” It was a quintessentially Hades piece of advice, but there may well be some merit to it, she thinks. It was a far superior option to bursting into tears whenever confronted. “I will keep that in mind. If...When talking fails.” Persephone stands to her feet. “I believe we’ve spoken here long enough. Don’t you?”

“Ah, to business.” Hades stands to follow. “There is much more I would like to say, but perhaps you are correct--this is not the most ideal location.”

“So, what happens now?” Persephone asks him. “Now that I have...agreed to this.” 

“Our primary order of business will be to liberate you from this mortal composition, of course.” He places his hands on her shoulders. “Though there are two small matters we must attend to before that. Firstly...”

Hades hands start to glow, and Persephone suddenly feels a massive flow of aether through her body. She hisses involuntarily. It is painful, but...the kind of pain that comes with cleansing a wound. He’s extracting the light from her, she realizes--all of the light she had absorbed in her journey through the First. The last of it leaves her and she staggers back, gasping in relief. Gods, she’d forgotten what it felt like to not have that light tearing her apart from the inside. When she recovers, she sees Hades holds it in a concentrated sphere above them.

“If we released this all here, even I could not help but be affected by the blast,” he explains. The man snaps his fingers, and his darkness divides the light into four equal parts. One by one, he directs them to fly out to different points of the horizon, and soon the last blinks out of view. “There we are. Each of the regions you’ve visited should be greeted by a new Lightwarden very soon.”

Weeks of tireless work, undone in mere moments...He could have done this at any time, Persephone realizes. He simply chose not to.

“Now, your merry band will undoubtedly have noticed that,” he informs her. “We must make our exit with all haste. So dispose of that pesky white auracite for me, won’t you? Keep that on you and you’ll be in for a most unpleasant surprise once we’re through.”

Persephone had almost forgotten that she carried it. She takes the crystal from her bag and looks it over. White auracite...For all the tasks the Scions had taken upon themselves, this was perhaps their crowning achievement. A method to kill the immortal. One Moenbryda had given her life to see through. ...See through, and kill Nabriales...Igeyorhm...Two who wished for naught more than she did now--to remember. To be whole.

Her grasp on the auracite tightens, and she flows all her aether into her strength. It shatters in her hands, pieces raining to the ground--some stained with droplets of her own blood. Farewell, Scions of the Seventh Dawn.

“Simply throwing it over the cliff would have sufficed, but I do admire the theatrics.” Hades extends his hand to her. “Shall we be off then, my dear? The Chrysalis awaits.” 

Before taking his hand, Persephone casts one last glance to the false Kholusian sunset. She laughs. Ah...She should have known this was how their conversation would end. The sunset, the twilight...It preceded night. It always did.

On this day, night would engulf the tale of the Warrior of Light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is "Persephone" the most predictable name I could have chosen for Azem? Yeah. Am I rolling with it anyway? Yep!
> 
> I wrote this before 5.4 but the new Eden raids continuing the Greek god theme was a nice assist
> 
> I'm in the process of brewing a short reaction fic to those raids bc wow the feelings
> 
> Update: [And here is that!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28047666)  
> 


	2. Fractures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Scions come to face a harsh new reality--and accidentally break something in the process.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Turns out this fic does get a new chapter after all! I had so many ideas bouncing through my head that I couldn't resist. Sometimes the best Christmas gift is letting yourself write out the edgy trash in your head! Big update to the tags on this one so make sure to double check that and all.
> 
> Much like when I posted the first chapter, I have more possible scenes in mind but idk if/what I'll write, so I'll continue to mark this as complete--I'll likely try to write every chapter like it could be an end of sorts. I want to leave it open-ended in terms of what happens long term, anyhow.
> 
> Since Sahri/Persephone/Azem really goes into full villain mode here I do wanna reiterate that this is not remotely an endorsement of the Ascians' ideology--listen to the Scions!

“...It’s no use. No matter where I look, I can’t find her.”

Ryne slumps in defeat, burying her face in her hands. The mood was low around Amity, the energy of only a day earlier having thoroughly fizzled once the hero of the hour had failed to show. News of the disappearance of night from all corners of Norvrandt--accompanied by a resurgence of the sin eater population--had not helped matters. While the Chais stood on standby, most of the hamlet’s guests had long since departed. With Y’shtola and Urianger discussing plans indoors and Thancred conducting his own search for Sahri, only Alphinaud and Alisaie stood by Ryne in Amity’s center. The boy was deep in thought, the girl frowning with folded arms. 

“You need not strain yourself further, Ryne.” Alphinaud places a hand on the girl’s shoulder, giving her a reassuring smile. “If this method had any chance of bearing fruit, ‘tis clear you would have located her by now. Allow us to wait for Thancred’s return--he should arrive ere long. Perhaps he has met with more success.”

Ryne sighs. “I just...I don’t understand it,” Ryne says, balling her hands into fists. “I can faintly sense the presence of sin eaters as distantly as Rak’tika, but I’ve not found even a hint of Sahri. It’s as if she’s...she’s completely disappeared.”

“Disappeared, you say? Hmm…” Alphinaud closes his eyes, chin resting on his finger and thumb. “The Exarch did mention that Sahri possesses the capability to attune to the First’s aetherytes and travel at will. If she has vanished, it is possible she has returned to the Source to see to some matter or another.”

“Alphinaud,” a voice growls, giving the two a start. Alisaie’s voice, they realize. The girl’s fingers are digging into her folded arms, gaze shooting daggers in their direction. “Do not give Ryne false hope.”

“False hope?” Alphinaud frowns. “I’m not certain I care for the implication of your words, Alisaie. You cannot deny the possibility. Were you not the first among us to declare Sahri safe and capable of being found?”

“That…” His sister huffs. “That was then, and this is now. Sahri has not once returned to the Source since arriving in Norvrandt--with good reason, given what Y’shtola informed us about the light she’s been keeping inside. Do you really think she would bring the light of the Flood to the Source now, with her health failing her? Don’t be ridiculous, Alphinaud.” A glaze of worry replaces the false confidence in the boy’s eyes, and he lets out a sigh of defeat.

“...Sahri is far more prudent than that,” he concedes. “And in any case, it is clear said light was not brought elsewhere, given it’s emerged to torment the First once more.” Ryne nervously glances back and forth between the twins’ grim visages, clutching her chest and tears welling behind her eyes.

“You don’t…” she says in a quiet voice. “You don’t really think that something happened to her, do you…?” 

“Of _course_ something happened to her!” Alisaie snaps, causing the other girl to recoil. Alphinaud takes a step forward and gives his sister a stern look.

“Alisaie. Do not take out your frustrations on Ryne. This is not any easier for us than it is for you.”

The venom fades from Alisaie’s face, and she shakes away tears. “...Right. S...Sorry,” she tells Ryne. The girl nods, placing a hand on her arm, and Alisaie’s rigid posture eases. “But...we need to be realistic. There was a flash of light from the location Sahri was last seen, and now the aether that is supposed to be inside her is scattered all about the world. We investigate the scene of the flash, and what do we find? Blood, and the shattered remnants of the white auracite she carried.” The girl grits her teeth. “The only hand which would target that is the hand of an Ascian.”

“...Unfortunately, that is true,” Alphinaud agrees. “Norvrandt’s denizens would not be aware of its significance.” 

Ryne’s face falls into a gloom. “Then…” Her head sinks. “Do you think...that was Emet-Selch’s plan all along? To find her when she was weak, and then to k--” The girl’s lip quivers. “...Kill her?”

A heavy silence begins to take hold, but it is cut off by a confident voice.

“Do not despair, my friends. Sahri is not dead. I know that to be true.” 

The three turn to find the Crystal Exarch himself walking to their side. While his cowl made it difficult to ascertain the finer details of his expression, he wore a smile, and his posture betrayed no doubt.

“And how can you be so certain?” Alisaie asks with annoyance. “Do you know something we do not?”

“No, no.” The man shakes his head. “But her strength is the most certain fact I have ever known. Even if Emet-Selch does have a hand in her disappearance, I have little doubt she will return to us. He could not vanquish her. Not Sahri.”

“Hmm…” Alphinaud furrows his brow. “Perhaps assuming her death is premature. But we must endeavor to remember that unlike the Ascians, Sahri is no immortal. Her strength is staggering, but far from limitless.”

“Ran’jit did get the upper hand on her when you all came to rescue me…” Ryne recalls. Alisaie scowls, her anger returning in full force--and fully directed at the Exarch, besides. 

“You know nothing about her. Have endured nothing at her side.” The girl’s voice is cold, volume rising. “You’ve not seen her laying in a pool of her own blood, ilms from death. You’ve not stood at her bedside as she’s fought to hold on to her life. So do not be so arrogant as to pretend your faith in her is surer than ours!”

“That...that was not my intention, I assure you,” the Exarch insists. “I simply…” the man trails off, searching for words.

“Alisaie. There is no need for such hostility,” Alphinaud chides, but Alisaie directs her frown at him in turn.

“Is that so? And how can we be certain the Exarch has no role in this? He is ever so fond of his secrets.”

“Now, Alisaie…”

Ryne watches in dismay as the three break into a heated argument. The stress of Sahri’s disappearance truly had frayed their nerves. She wants no part in pointless bickering, so she turns in the opposite direction and walks away, hanging her head. She...she needed to get away from this all, to clear her mind. 

How had it all fallen apart so quickly? They’d defeated Ran’jit and liberated Eulmore from Vauthry’s control….They’d managed to rally near all of Norvrandt together to construct the giant Talos! The energy was like nothing Ryne had ever seen--it had given her hope. True hope. Hope that they could rid Norvrandt of the tyranny of light once and for all. And yet, through all their efforts, Emet-Selch ever grinned in the background...and when the critical moment came, Sahri was nowhere to be found. Had there never been a chance of victory, after all? Were they fools for hoping? For not challenging Emet-Selch more aggressively? What could they possibly--?

Ryne’s train of thought is interrupted when she bumps into something--something that feels an awful lot like a some _body_. The girl immediately begins to apologize.

“Oh, I’m so terribly so--”

Her voice trails off when she looks up and sees the face of the person she had run into. As the girl’s jaw drops, she feels a hand rest upon her head.

“There’s no need to apologize. But I was able to watch as you walked right into me--you really should pay attention to where you’re going. There are plenty of sin eaters out there. You could get hurt. Promise me you’ll be more careful from now on. Won’t you, Ryne-bean?”

The girl’s eyes water, and she breaks into a jubilant smile. She gasps out a name.

“Sahri?”

Every head in the vicinity turns to the woman smiling down at Ryne. 

“I apologize if I’ve given you all a fright,” the woman says, levity in her tone. For whatever reason, she wore her hair down, but it was her. Undeniably her. Ryne pulls her into a tight hug.

“Oh, I’m so relieved you’re okay!” the girl tells her. “We thought--we thought--” She allows the thought to fade to the aether when Sahri returns her hug, rubbing her back.

“I’m here now,” Sahri reassures her. She looks up when she hears two sets of footsteps approaching.

“Sahri...It is you. It is you…” Alisaie is badly failing at holding in her tears. “I knew you would be alright.”

“Did you, now? That’s not how I remember it.” Alphinaud smiles bright, even as his sister shoots him a deathly glare. “It is good to see you, my friend,” he says, looking at Sahri. He reaches out and takes a piece of her hair between his fingers, idly playing with it. “If I may say, I never realized how much length you hid away in those buns of yours.”

Alisaie slaps his hand away. “Alphinaud! Surely you know better than to place your hand unwanted into a woman’s hair!”

The boy’s face goes beet red. “Oh--Oh, I’m so terribly sorry,” he stammers. “I wasn’t--I wasn’t even thinking--” 

Sahri laughs, and she and the twins strike up a lively conversation. Yet...Ryne couldn’t focus on what they were saying. Disquiet welled in her heart, and she could not quite place why….

Ryne pulls her face back from Sahri’s chest and looks upwards. Now that she studied the woman more closely...There really was something strange about her hair. Far beyond it being worn in a different style. She’d seen Sahri’s hair let down after a wash, and it was never so long. Now, it extended far past her shoulders, just a mere ilm or two short of her own hair’s length. And while the woman always had black highlights, nearly the entire length of her hair beneath its previous extent was solidly black, with her typical silvery-blue comprising the highlights instead. It was...uncanny, somehow…

The girl shrugs off Sahri’s hold and takes a step back--the woman allows her to go, not sparing a glance. Ryne scrutinizes her. Her hair was far from the only uncanny aspect about her. There were...a handful of subtle differences elsewhere, she notices. She did not carry her staff, for one. And the earrings that adorned her were a gorgeous, yet alien pair of violet and gold, one Ryne had never seen anything like. She wore her makeup slightly darker than usual, as well--though that was a small matter. Much stranger was her robe. She recalled the metallic fixtures on it ranging in hue from silver to a pale gold, yet now they were uniformly gold, of a shade much more harsh. What in the world? She did not think Sahri would take the time to change such minute details of her attire at such a critical juncture. That was nothing like the practical woman Ryne had grown to know.

As she continues to scan her eyes over the woman before her, Ryne’s eyes lock upon her hands, and the girl’s brows rise in concern. What was--? Though her hands were largely concealed by her robe’s sizable sleeves, Ryne notices Sahri is wearing something atop each of her gloves. They had the appearance of...metallic talons. Talons for her thumb and closest two fingers. 

Something was wrong. Something was terribly, terribly wrong, Ryne knew. Hesitantly, she decides to focus her power to sense light upon Sahri. She forces herself to swallow the gasp at what she finds. She’d never seen Sahri’s soul without the Lightwardens’ influence, of course, but...this was far from natural. Any light within was gripped in a stranglehold, and the darkness within pushed back against Ryne’s perception, urging her to turn her eyes. It rather reminded her of…

...Of Emet-Selch’s... 

Ryne begins to back away from the woman. “Um…” she says in a weak voice. “Sah--”

“Sahri.” The Exarch’s voice interrupts Sahri’s banter with the twins. “Welcome back, my friend. We were all terribly worried about you. It may be a good idea to inform us when you plan an extended sojourn in the future.”

“...Of course.” Sahri’s smile shifts at the sight of the Exarch. It is cold in a way that sends a shiver down Ryne’s spine. The girl’s heart pounds. “Circumstances arose that I hadn’t planned for.” 

“And what circumstances were those?” the man asks, coming to stand beside the twins. 

“I would be glad to explain once the Scions have gathered.” She walks forward, stopping directly in front of the man. Something inside Ryne screams that she must stop her, but she says nothing, frozen in place. “Though there is something I’d like to ask you while we wait.”

“I...will answer to the best of my abilities,” the man tells her. 

Suddenly, a woman’s voice cries out. Ryne immediately recognizes it as Y’shtola’s.

“ _Get back from her!_ "

It is too late. 

Sahri’s staff of ice appears in her hand in a swirl of crackling darkness. In an instant, its form shifts to that of a lance. Before the Exarch has time to react, Sahri takes firm hold of the weapon and thrusts forward--running the man straight through his stomach.

When the lance emerges out his other side, Ryne shrieks.

……………………………………………………………………………………………..

“Why did you lie to me, Raha?”

That is the question Persephone poses to the man impaled upon her lance of ice. He coughs, a small splatter of blood landing upon her robe. She’d let it stay for now.

“S...Sahri…?” The man’s voice is strained. “Why…? Ah…” 

Unable to stay standing of his own volition, the man slumps forward on her lance. He looked utterly pathetic, panting there with his body limp. Persephone allows her lance to dissipate, moving forward to catch the man’s fall in a mockery of an embrace. 

“No more hiding.” Persephone places her faux claw at the base of G’raha’s hood, kindling a small flame at its tip. She rakes the finger across the back and singes the hood clean from the cowl, pulling it off so it falls to the ground. Pushing him back slightly so that she can look upon his face, Persephone cannot help but smile at what she sees.

“There you are,” she coos, raising a hand to cup his cheek. “G’raha Tia.” The terror that wells in his scarlet eyes is enthralling. “Maturity suits you well,” she tells him, rubbing his cheek with her thumb. “You look more handsome than you ever have. Why would you conceal this from me?”

“S...Sahri,” the man gasps, tears prickling in the corners of his eyes. “I...I am sorry...T-truly, deeply sorry that I was not candid with you--ngh!” The man groans, clutching his still-bleeding wound. “B-But…You must believe me when I say that I am not your enemy. I only...I only wished to spare you pain...to live your life without guilt. That is all I ever wanted…”

G’raha’s eyes gleam with sincerity, his pleading striking a chord in Persephone’s heart. The woman’s smile fades into a deep frown.

“No...You are my enemy.” She slowly drags her metal claws down the man’s cheek, leaving thin trails of blood in their wake. “You single-handedly threaten to undo all it is I hope to achieve. And for that, you cannot be allowed to roam free.”

“That...that is not true!” the man insists, his face filling with a mixture of sorrow and confusion. Tears begin to fall from his eyes, and Persephone averts her own. Fortunately, she is given a new target for her attention, as two figures approach her in a dash--Y’shtola and Urianger. Both their weapons are drawn, battle stance ready.

“Unhand him. _Now_ ,” Y’shtola demands. She glares at Persephone with contempt--the selfsame contempt her expression held when she’d mistaken her for a Lightwarden in Rak’tika. Part of her wilts under those piercing eyes, yet another surges forth in indignance. 

“We do not desire to come to blows, friend,” Urianger adds. “Yet if thou willest it, we shall not hesitate to do that which we must.”

“Friend?” Persephone scoffs. “And whenever have you been a friend to me, Urianger? You, who was content to leave me ignorant of my march to my own death?” The resolve in the man’s face falters, a hint of guilt replacing it.

“...Mine hands were tied,” he says. Y’shtola cuts in before he can continue.

“That has no relevance to the matter at hand. Release the Exarch, Sahri,” she demands once more. Yet this time, Persephone feels the cool metal of a blade pressed against her neck. She glances towards it--Ah. That gunblade was most familiar.

“You heard the woman. Let him go, Sahri.” Thancred’s tone suggests he is quite serious about his threat. Stone-faced, Persephone slowly relinquishes her hold on G’raha, raising her hands to the air in surrender. Urianger pulls the man to himself and immediately sets to healing him. Blade still in dangerous proximity to her, Persephone turns in place to face the man who held it. The children had moved behind him, it would seem. Ryne trembled, and the twins gazed upon her with silent shock. The woman looks Thancred directly in the eyes...and gives him a small smile. 

“You’re truly going to hold your blade to my neck without allowing me a chance to explain myself?” she asks, teasing. The man’s stoicism breaks into surprise. After a beat, Alisaie places a hand on the man’s arm, suddenly animated. 

“Listen to her, Thancred!” she scolds. “She let the Exarch go! So get that away from her before someone gets hurt!” Thancred glances back and forth between Persephone’s smile and Alisaie’s fire, eventually sighing. He returns his blade to his back with a small shrug. 

“I would thank you if next time, you offered an explanation _before_ beginning to impale our allies.” 

“I shan’t make that mistake twice,” she assures him, smile growing. A small smile begins to creep onto the man’s own face, but the two are interrupted by a voice behind Persephone.

“This had better be quite the explanation.” Turning back, Persephone finds that Y’shtola continues to glower at her. She had not sheathed her weapon--the contempt in her eyes ever-burning. “Do not waste our time with lies. You may fool the others, but I can see you for what you are. For what you have become.”

“ _Ascian_ ,” she hisses. The Scions collectively recoil. 

“A-Ascian?” With Urianger’s assistance, G’raha pulls himself to his feet, leaning against the man for support. “Explain, Master Matoya!”

“You...You don’t mean to say…” Alphinaud takes a step backwards, horror consuming his expression.

“I-It’s true!” Ryne chimes in, regaining some of her resolve. “Her soul...it’s as blighted by darkness as Emet-Selch’s!”

Persephone glances across the Scions’ faces, finding shock, anger, or some combination of the two on each and every one. She lets out a deep sigh.

“I told you this would not work, love.”

“Oh, I never expected it to, my dear,” a voice booms from nowhere. Who would appear before the Scions but Emet-Selch--her Hades--making his entrance at the most dramatic hour. “Though I was quite curious as to how far you could string them along. Colour me impressed by your performance. It is a shame this one had to go and ruin it,” he laments, casting a glance at Y’shtola. 

“Emet-Selch!” Thancred bares his teeth at the man. “What did you _do_ to he--”

“This was for your amusement?” Persephone cuts him off, ignoring Thancred’s outburst. “I suppose I should have expected as much…” She folds her arms and begins to walk forward to join her husband, but Y’shtola is intent to make her move. 

“Do not think you can simply walk away!” She lobs a fire spell in Persephone’s direction, but the moment before it would make contact, the woman disappears in a burst of darkness. She rematerializes at Hades’ side, arms still folded. She pretends to give the man an angry glare, but soon smiles, leaning against his shoulder.

“You’re fortunate I find it so difficult to stay angry with you,” she tells him sweetly. The man smiles back at her, placing a hand behind her shoulders.

“I am fortunate, indeed,” he agrees.

“Sahri!”

Persephone opens her eyes to see the Scions had gathered together before she and Hades--that made this simpler. The voice which had called out to her was Alisaie’s. There were tears welling in the girl’s eyes, and unlike before, they were far from joyous. Persephone resists the urge to reach out and wipe them away.

“Sahri,” Alisaie repeats, voice pleading. “Tell us this is not true. Tell us this is some terrible misunderstanding. Please, Sahri.” When she does not answer, Alisaie tries again. “Sahri!” 

Raising her head from Hades’ shoulder, Persephone takes a step forward. Now was as good a time as any.

“That is not my name, Alisaie,” she informs the girl, looking dead into her eyes. “That was never my name. To you…” Persephone holds her hand before her face, curling it into a fist and pulling downwards. A harsh red glyph glows to life. “...I am Azem, Shepherd to the stars in the dark.” Predictably, Alisaie’s mouth falls agape.

“Thus heralds the ascension of our final--and most storied--member,” Hades tells the Scions with glee, stepping to stand beside Persephone. “I really must thank you--all of you. Each and every one of you played your role in making this day possible.” He directs his grin towards the scowling G’raha, still propped up against Urianger. “Though none moreso than you, dear Exarch. You have my sincerest thanks of all.” 

“W...What?” G’raha sputters as all heads pivot towards him. He draws his mouth into a snarl. “I would never assist a fiend such as you! I’ve devoted my life to preventing your atrocities!”

“And those are the very same efforts for which I thank you!” Hades agrees. He places an arm around Persephone’s shoulders. “To think there was a future where Azem’s life ended as part of some inglorious statistic...That we nearly discarded such a shining pearl alongside the rubble. You have given me the chance to correct that mistake, and to reunite with my wife besides.” The word clearly catches the Scions off guard, and Persephone grins, heart welling with pride that they knew she was his.

“You have my gratitude as well, Raha,” she adds, her glyph fading. “For putting my heart in contact with my husband’s once more. For pushing me to my breaking point, allowing me to realize what it was that truly mattered.” Any mockery or self-contentment has left her smile--it is utterly sincere. “I remember who I am, now, and even if not intentional, that is the kindest thing you’ve ever done for me. Thank you, Raha. I will cherish this gift. I do look forward to one day meeting your completed self.”

Hades grimaces. “Heavens forfend. I assumed you’d relinquished these infatuations, but you get new ideas by the day…” Persephone gives him a smirk and giggles. Tragically, it would seem the Scions did not find themselves in as high of spirits as they.

“I...I don’t understand,” G’raha says, shaking his head. “Not a word of what you say makes sense. Sahri...Sahri is…”

“Waste not thy words, Exarch,” Urianger interrupts him. “None are more adept in the practice of deception than the Ascians. Thou speakest not with Sahri, but an impostor which inhabits her flesh.”

“...Ah...Of course.” G’raha nods in his misplaced understanding. “Thancred once endured a similar experience, did he not?” His eyes turn resolute. “Then we must fight to liberate her with all our might!”

“Unfortunately, it is not so simple,” Thancred interjects. While his face is stern, there is no missing the sorrow in his eyes. “Sahri’s Blessing of Light would prevent any Ascian from stealing her body as Lahabrea did mine. And her will is far too strong, besides.” His tone turns mournful. “No. The only way an Ascian could commandeer her…”

“That this would be your ultimate fate…” Alphinaud chokes back tears, his eyes downcast. “You deserved a better end, my friend. Not this. Anything but this…”

“Oh, Sahri…” Ryne begins to break down into tears herself. 

“That...that cannot be!” G’raha cries out, the meaning of the Scions’ words setting in. “After everything I’ve done...All we worked to achieve...That cannot…..” Tears fall freely from his face, the man unable to restrain his sobs. “My friends…”

The way the Scions hung their heads as if part of a funeral procession was touching, if not a tad frustrating. Persephone supposed their misunderstanding was a reasonable one. Curiously, two of her former allies distinguished themselves from the crowd. Y’shtola, who though strangely silent, had stared at her unflinching. And Alisaie, anger on her face spiraling to levels Persephone had never seen, clutching her hands in fists so firmly that they shook. 

“You…” A streak of blood drips down the girl’s palm. “You _murder_ our friend, the kindest woman I have ever known--a woman who opposed your plans more fiercely than any--and then _dare_ to parade her body before us? To besmirch her legacy by turning her power against the very causes for which she fought?” In a flash, she holds her rapier in hand, battle stance at the ready. “No! I will not allow it! I will not allow you to make a mockery of her!” 

Alphinaud calls out to her. “Alisaie, don’t--!” He cannot stop her, the girl lunging towards Persephone at high speed. Oh, Alisaie...Ever impulsive. The woman manifests an icy rapier of her own and readies her own practiced stance as a red mage, meeting Alisaie’s blow. The girl is briefly taken aback before her anger redoubles.

“Even her techniques…!” Alisaie takes another swing, which Persephone counters as well--then another, and another. Despite her rage, her blows were deliberate, searching for an opening--for a point to strike. Persephone cannot help but feel a tinge of pride. Unfortunately for the girl, however, Persephone knew the ins and outs of her swordplay, having offered her sparring as training many a time--and passing on a few of her self-devised skills, besides. If she refused to take the offensive, they would only continue forth in a stalemate. 

“Alisaie, stop this,” she tells the girl over the sound of clashing metal. “I am not here to fight you. Or to hurt you.”

The girl scoffs. “Not here to hurt me? You’d rather me be an obedient girl and wait for my body to be stacked in a pile of others in the wake of a Calamity, then? I refuse!” To Persephone’s shock, Alisaie feints and angles a thrust that nearly pierces her guard--the woman narrowly dodging to the side. “And stop using her voice!” Alisaie demands, striking at her once more. “Stop saying my name as if you care one onze for who I am!” 

Clearly, Alisaie’s technique had grown far beyond what Persephone had realized. Perhaps passivity was not her best option, after all.

“Do not force my hand, Alisaie,” Persephone warns. “If you were to fall here, what hope would be left for Ga Bu?”

“Ga--?!” Alisaie instantly freezes, her face going pale. Her rapier clatters to the ground, battle stance falling apart. The girl wears an expression that Alphinaud typically reserves for ghost stories. “Why...why do you know…?” she asks, haltingly backing away. Alphinaud rushes forward, pulling out his grimoire and throwing out his arm before his sister.

“Get back, Alisaie!” he exclaims, summoning an ally to his side--Ruby Carbuncle. Persephone breaks into a wide smile at the sight of the adorable creature.

“It’s been a long while since I’ve seen you, sweet thing,” she says, sinking to sit on her knees. She extends out a hand. “Won’t you come over here and let me pet you?” The carbuncle’s eyebrows raise in surprise, glancing to its master for direction--yet all Alphinaud had for it was a mouth agape. In lieu of instruction, it looks back to Persephone and cautiously begins to walk forward. It sniffs at her hand, and recognizing a familiar presence, its face brightens. It nuzzles into her hand affectionately, and Persephone begins to give it scratches behind its ears--in just the way she knows it likes them.

“Oh, what a good carbuncle!” Persephone coos at the creature. Growing excited, it leaps at her and nearly knocks her over, giving the woman affectionate ‘kisses’ of joy. She giggles, embracing it and giving it full-body pets. “Have you been letting Ruby Carbuncle out to stretch its legs?” she asks, smiling up at Alphinaud. The boy stands rigid in shock. “I recall how excitable it could be, running around Camp Dragonhead. Once, I remember chasing it right into our little Falling Snows--what a mess it made of the place!” Alphinaud grows teary-eyed, taking a step back in a mirror of his sister. 

“It was always the little creatures you were fondest of…” Hades shakes his head, but he wears a smile as he walks to Persephone’s side. 

“You should give it a few pets too, love,” the woman insists. Hades sighs but does not resist, falling to a knee and extending his hand towards the carbuncle. It growls at him, but Persephone gives it a reassuring pat. “Shhh, it’s alright. He’s a friend. A friend…” Ruby Carbuncle sniffs at the man’s hand, and after a few moments, lowers its head to allow his touch. Hades begins to pet it, and the creature leans into him. He lets out a small, contented laugh--one only Persephone could hear. Apparently, the sight is enough to finally prompt Alphinaud to speak.

“It...It cannot...” he thinks aloud. “By all rights, Ruby Carbuncle should be able to sense the difference between Sahri and an Ascian in her skin…”

“For the love of--Will you stop gawking at the dangerous villains playing with your pet, you two?” Thancred cuts in, exasperated. 

“A-Ahem. Of course. Ruby Carbuncle, return to me!” Alphinaud commands. The creature makes a sound of disappointment but obeys, withdrawing from the Ascians’ affection in a flourish of light. The boy retreats to his companions--sister in tow--and Persephone sighs. Hades offers her a hand and helps her to her feet.

Urianger places a hand to his face in thought. “A vexing performance. Azem captureth our companion’s idiosyncrasies with veritably disturbing aplomb. She hath knowledge of memories far too intimate to exist in the domain of a simple observer…”

“Shtola.” Persephone directs her gaze straight into the still-quiet woman’s eyes. She resists a shudder at her intensity--at the prickles of guilt the woman sent sinking into her skin. Instead, she fuels her discomfort back into her own ferocity. “You said you saw me for what I’d become--I know you would not claim such idly. Could you go ahead and clear up their misunderstanding? I doubt they will take an Ascian’s word for it.”

“Hm. You _have_ been shockingly tight-lipped,” Hades observes. “I was given to believe your unfettered candidness had survived the leap to this life relatively intact. What is the matter, then? Cat got your tongue?” Y’shtola is unamused. The man’s eyes narrow. “Or perhaps...the scene before you strikes a chord of familiarity you would rather keep silent than acknowledge?” For the first time this encounter, Y’shtola’s expression falters, shifts. She bares her teeth at the man, who tilts his head. Persephone gives him a look of confusion, but the man continues staring down the Archon. “What do you say? Would a trip to the Hall of Rhetoric loosen the words stuck on your tongue?”

“Enough!” Y’shtola growls defensively. She finally relaxes her stance, placing her staff on her back and folding her arms--brows furrowed.

“I’m...I’m well and truly lost,” Ryne admits, looking towards Y’shtola for answers. “I can’t make sense of these riddles. What is going on?”

“I, too, wish to be privy to thy knowledge,” Urianger agrees. “...Or in the least, seek confirmation of my most troubling suspicions.” The Scions each turn to the woman, expectant. Even G’raha takes a break from his tears to look upon her. (What a darling, sensitive man he still was beneath his lies.) Y’shtola gazes towards the ground and sighs.

“Very well. If you will force me to be the bearer of truth, so be it.” She sighs and again stares Persephone down--this time, with an unmistakable hint of pain she’d previously masked. “This will no doubt be difficult to accept, but...The woman who stands before us is no impostor. Her aether may be darkened by Zodiark’s influence, but its identity is unmistakable, not crowded out by any other. No, this woman is Sahri, in both flesh and soul.”

Persephone smiles with relief, the truth finally clearing away the mist of confusion.

“What…?” the defeated Exarch asks.

“...You’re right. I wouldn’t have believed that coming from you, _Azem_ ,” Thancred says sadly. “And yet Y’shtola’s word is not one I can doubt. You’ve…” He looks at Persephone with the gravest disappointment. “You’ve actually gone and done this. Haven’t you, Sahri?” The woman’s heart squeezes in pain, only staring back coldly. The first fracture.

“It really is her…” Despite her words, doubt subsumes Alisaie’s tone, her eyes wide and distant. “It...It really is…”

“D-Does this mean Sahri has been an Ascian the entire time?” Ryne asks, shrinking into herself. Urianger shakes his head.

“Nay, Ryne. Recall there existeth a division amongst the Ascians’ elite--that betwixt the sundered and unsundered,'' he reminds the girl. “Emet-Selch serveth as the latter, hailing directly from the ancient world. The sundered are instead comprised of modern souls such as yours and mine, reclaimed of their primeval memories and somehow ascended to immortality.”

“Sahri would almost certainly fall into that category,” Y’shtola says, continuing the man’s explanation. “Emet-Selch has clearly been conniving to wake her memories of eld and persuade her to the justice of the Ascians’ cause.” She pauses, and when she speaks once more, her voice is quieter. “...It would seem he succeeded in such.”

“Then…” Ryne furrows her brow. “She was not an Ascian...but her memories have some connection to them?”

“Some connection? Were you not listening when she introduced herself?” Hades sighs in annoyance. “No manners between the lot of you...Pay attention this time, then. As I held the seat of Emet-Selch, she held the seat of Azem. We are old colleagues.”

“We defied Hydaelyn and her self-styled godhood to reunite once more,” Persephone adds. “To once more be among those we loved. Who we worked with, laughed with...and in some cases, died with.” She smiles, eyes jubilant. “Shtola...Ryne...everyone. I know, now, beyond a doubt. This is where I was always meant to be. These are the people to which I belong.” Silence ensues, and it is none other than young Alphinaud who breaks it.

“By the gods…” he clutches his head in his hands. “So you have chosen this of your own will? It...It was no secret that you were experiencing some emotional difficulties, but I never could have…” The young man balls his hands into fists. “You would forsake it all?” he shouts at her. “Everything we have fought for at each other’s side? Everything Ysayle and Haurchefant _died_ for?” Persephone’s pulse spikes, one fracture begetting ten more. She scowls.

“Do _not_ speak their names to me!” she snaps back at the boy. “It is in their very memory I have chosen this path!” She manifests her staff in her hand--the staff imbued with Shiva’s energy, now amplified by Zodiark’s own power. Ysayle’s faint image appears in the ice glimmering above the weapon. “Even now, I carry them with me, Alphinaud.”

“And how could this possibly be what they wanted, Sahri?” the boy retorts with anger. “Think about it for even a moment!” Persephone readies her response, but her husband places a hand on her shoulder to halt her.

“How you leverage the names of the fallen with such glee...You know my Azem is a sensitive one,” Hades chides the boy. He turns to his wife. “Do not allow him to get under your skin, dear. His words may be spirited, but you know as well as I that they are empty.”

Persephone takes a breath. “Of...of course,” she agrees, dematerializing her weapon and relaxing her posture. Yet loud shuffling interrupts any opportunity to gather herself.

“Exarch, thou must not overexert thyself!” Urianger pleads with concern. It would seem G’raha was attempting to free himself from the man’s support. “I applied restorative magicks, but thy wounds art far from healed--Thou cannot risk worsening them.” Ignoring the man, G’raha wrests himself from his hold, nearly toppling over--but managing to plant his feet firmly. He staggers towards Persephone, head hung. When he reaches her, he braces his hands on her shoulders, looking up at her with earnest, teary eyes. They begged her to be earnest in turn.

“Oh, do not go putting your hands all over her,” Hades warns, but Persephone holds out her arm. 

“No, no,” she tells the man. “Let’s hear what the Exarch has to say.” She tilts her head. “Well?”

“S-Sahri…” he stammers. Never had she seen G’raha so broken--face drenched in tears, eyes red and puffy, multiple streaks of blood down his cheek and out of the corner of his mouth...She pitied his misery, she did. Yet she shakes her head.

“Azem,” Persephone corrects him. The man frowns. 

“No...No.” He places a hand on her cheek. “Your name is Sahri--Have you forgotten?” Persephone quirks a brow. “I know not how Emet-Selch has infiltrated your mind...What he has caused you to forget about yourself, about your past...But I know he could not possibly drive out your mind in full. You must resist his spells, Sahri. You must resist him.” Persephone lets out a deep sigh--in his grief, the man had fabricated his own alternate version of events.

“I’ve forgotten nothing,” she explains. “Only remembered. Remembered my true past. My true role.”

“I do not for a moment believe that, Sahri.” G’raha’s eyes are steady in their resolve. “Even if you do have some past with the Ascians--you were this Azem--it does not change the woman you are now.” The man smiles, tugging at something in Persephone’s heart. “You are the greatest of heroes--of any shard. Of any star. For...For centuries on end, your light has guided me,” he confesses. Persephone’s eyes widen in legitimate shock. “I hung upon every tale of your adventures. The most storied ones, yes--your stands against Garlemald, the end of the Dragonsong War, the liberation of your home--but also the smaller ventures. You have gone out of your way to help people from all walks of life, in ways both large and small. That is why you have inspired not one but two worlds over--why even decades after your own death, your star ever served as a beacon of hope.”

“That is the woman you are,” he tells her, love overflowing. “A woman who fought and cared for this world like no other. Such a woman would never seek its destruction. So please, Sahri--remember. Remember who you are.”

The fractures spread in a storm, the stress upon them too great to handle. In spite of herself, tears prickle in the corner of Persephone’s eyes.

“Raha…” she whispers. She holds the man’s face in her hands and smiles back at him. Were her focus elsewhere, she would catch Hades grimacing. “I do remember, Raha,” she tells him. “I remember a world I love.”

“Truly?” he asks with joy, eyes shining. She nods. 

“I do,” she reassures. “I remember a world far more beautiful than Hydaelyn’s.” 

The spark fades from G’raha’s eyes, his skin turning pale. His smile slowly trembles into a frown.

“You would love it, too, if you only remembered,” the woman continues. “It was a world without poverty, without tyranny, without war...a world where life could flourish. That is the world for which I wish to fight--don’t you see?” Her smile loses not a hint of confidence. “No matter how much you or I may wish to benefit its people, Hydaelyn’s shards are distortions of the true reality--they will never know peace, nor an end to suffering. Giving people the chance to live in that world again--as their complete selves--it is the kindest thing I could ever do for them. The Calamities are merely stops along the way. All shards will be recompleted as their true soul.”

The man opens and closes his mouth lamely, failing to find words with which to respond. Persephone’s eyes narrow at him affectionately. 

“You deserve to live in that world, too, Raha,” she coos. “However painful it may have been to watch you deceive me...to lie to me...It does not matter, in the end. I’ve not stopped loving you for a day.” She presses a firm kiss to the man’s lips, and when she withdraws, she sees tears once more falling from his eyes. 

“One day...one day, when the Rejoining is complete, I will find you--the true you,” she promises. “And I would be delighted if I could show you around the world as it should be. That is a hope I will carry in my heart.”

G’raha musters no reply, tears only intensifying. Slowly, his eyes turn from Persephone’s own towards the ground. He had the look of a man utterly crushed--spirit thoroughly broken. Persephone sighs once more. 

“Here. Why don’t I give you some time to sort through your feelings? Somewhere where none shall bother you.” Persephone raises her hand and gives a loud snap of her fingers, man disappearing in a flash of light. 

“Thank goodness that display is over,” Hades mutters to himself.

The Scions, who had been variously averting or closing their eyes, all jolt in surprise. Y’shtola draws her weapon first, each of the others following--all sans Alisaie, who still stood numbly.

“Where--Where did you take the Exarch?” Ryne demands with surprising assertiveness. 

“I too wonder that,” Hades concurs. “Nowhere...disadvantageous, I would hope?” 

“The Chrysalis,” Persephone informs him, earning a relieved smile. “It should serve as a suitable holding cell until we determine what to do with him. As we agreed, it would be imprudent to continue to allow him free access to the Crystal Tower. He must turn back the hands of time no more.”

“Hm. A simple, yet elegant choice,” he says with approval. “We shall leave him for later--I take it you still have more to say here?”

“I do.” Persephone turns towards the Scions, frowning when she notices their weapons still drawn. “Come, now. The Exarch lays far beyond your reach. Fighting me would accomplish nothing. And despite what you may believe, I am not here to fight you. Or even to taunt you. I simply wish to speak.”

The Scions glance among themselves, and seeing Persephone’s arms folded, they put away their weapons one by one. 

“What could you possibly wish to say?” Y’shtola asks pointedly. Persephone smiles with affection, walking towards her companions and extending her arms.

“Everything I said to Raha--it applies to you, too,” she tells them. “I would adore to know each of you as your true selves. In this life, the Scions have been much for me. My comrades, my friends...my family,” she admits. “Family I desperately needed. It may be in varying ways, but I truly…” Her eyes gleam. “I truly do love each and every one of you. That has not changed. I swear it.” 

More than a few pairs of eyes go wet--including Y’shtola’s, to Persephone’s profound surprise. Her heart surges with warmth, and she presses onwards.

“It is with love I stand before you. We need not be enemies,” the woman insists. “What we desire is one in the same--the world’s peace. Hydaelyn is like every primal we have fought together--so long as she stands, suffering will continue unabated. She is a cruel and capricious creature, one that must be vanquished. You may have your concerns about Zodiark, as well--and reasonably so. I share them. Perhaps one day, we must mount an offensive against him, as well. But if we are to be successful, we must do so as ourselves--as our best selves. And for that, Hydaelyn must first fall.” 

Silence lingers in the air. The looks on the Scions’ faces told her that her words succeeded in their intended effect--they were seriously considering what she had to say. Of...Of course they would. The years of trust and love she’d built with them meant something. Persephone positively beams.

“You see my logic, yes?” she asks. “Then, please. Stand by me. If there is anything you have taught me, it is that we are stronger united.” She looks towards the Scions one by one. “Urianger. Alisaie. Y’shtola. Thancred. Alphinaud. Ryne. You may not remember yourselves, but this--this is our answer. The culmination of all we seek to achieve. Pray do not force me to pursue it on my own. Not when we can do so together.”

Her words are definitive, and the Scions’ ponderous expressions remain unchanged. Persephone is startled by the sound of clapping behind her--she turns to find her husband has made his way to her side. 

“Bravo,” he tells her with pride. “You make a most rousing orator in support of our aims. I could almost hear an echo of Lahabrea’s old speechwork--the kinds he delivered before his mind degraded so. Perhaps we should put that skill to further use.”

“I would certainly be glad to try,” Persephone tells him with a smile.

“Sahri.”

Both turn to see Alphinaud has taken a step forward. The resolve on his face tells Persephone he has made his decision. The other Scions watch him anxiously.

“What I told the Chais about us in Eulmore...it was the truth,” he begins. The boy gives her a fond smile. “We may not share blood, but...you are my family. As true as Alisaie.”

“And you mine, Alphy,” Persephone affirms, vision blurring with tears.

“You have stood by me at my lowest moments,” the boy continues. “Given me comfort. Guidance. And a truly staggering amount of patience.” Persephone giggles. “It would be no exaggeration to say you have crafted me into the man I am today as much as my own parents. For that, I am forever grateful. You say you love me...I love you as well, sister.”

The woman clasps her hands together in joy. “Alphy--”

“And that is exactly why I choose to stand against you now,” he cuts her off, drawing his lips firm. 

Persephone’s blood runs cold. His words impact her, full-force, with the speed of an arrow but the weight of a boulder. The fractures spread through her entirety.

“...What?” she asks weakly.

“I understand how you feel--I truly do,” the boy tells her with sympathy. “But in focusing on your nostalgia for life as it was, you forget the life that exists in abundance now. Each and every person has the right to live their lives--even those you deem less than whole. By assuming you singlehandedly have the means to right all of the world’s wrongs--by asserting your own will over theirs as a result--you are no better than I when I sought to form my Crystal Braves.” He gestures towards Mt. Gulg, unnaturally floating in the horizon. “You are no better than Vauthry and his misguided dreams of utopia.”

The woman can only stand in frozen shock. Hades steps forward, frowning, with an intent to interject.

“That you would compare--”

“I am _not_ speaking to _you_ ,” Alphinaud asserts over him, stopping the man in his tracks. “I am speaking to my friend,” he says, expression softening as he looks back to Persephone. “Sahri. Because I love you--because of my love for this world, a love you’ve helped nurture--I will not stand by as you repeat my mistakes. Not on such a destructive scale. So long as you call yourself Azem, I will oppose you with every fiber of my being.” 

Alphinaud reaches for his grimoire, but Thancred’s hand stops him.

“None of that, Alphinaud,” he tells the boy.

“Thancred?” Alphinaud asks with confusion--and some concern besides. The man shakes his head.

“You know better than to repeat your sister’s earlier outburst,” he says. “Engaging Sahri at this juncture would be fruitless. Even should we muster the strength to overcome her and Emet-Selch both, we have no white auracite with which to finish the job.” Hesitantly, the boy nods, withdrawing his arms to his sides. Content, Thancred turns his gaze on Persephone--the same resolve burning as Alphinaud’s.

“This is not the sort of monster I expected, I admit,” the man tells her. “But I will stand by the oath I made to you in the Pendants. Should you lose control, I will do whatever I must to keep you from hurting those you love. I promise you that. And I have my promises to Minfilia to keep, as well.” His glare turns cold. “So, yes. I do think you should count me as your enemy, _Azem_.” 

_Crack_. Impossibly, the fractures multiply further. Soon, they would be all there was.

Minfilia’s name registers in Persephone’s mind, Thancred’s invocation of the woman stirring a fury in her. 

“Minfilia?!” she spits. “Continuing on as Hydaelyn’s drone is the ultimate disgrace to her memory! She stripped Minfilia from us, rendering her naught more than the light’s pawn!”

“That’s not true!” Ryne steps forward, fire in her voice. “Minfilia lived by her own will to the very end! She was no pawn when she decided she wanted to save the First. She gladly gave herself--even if that’s painful for you to accept.” Her look grows less severe. “Sahri, Minfilia loved you. She loved you for your hope, for your conviction--I know it. And while I’ve not known you as long as the others, you have been kind to me, as well. You...you helped me realize that...that there was worth in being myself. That I wanted to be myself. You--you may have changed your mind, you may now want me to be someone else altogether...But I will not give it up so easily! I want to learn to love myself. I want to learn to love this world. For Minfilia--and for you.”

 _Crack_. 

Once more, Persephone is at a loss for words. 

“Most beautifully said, dear Ryne,” Urianger commends. “I, too, refuse to abandon mine hope for these worlds. The First and Source both. I did pass over the opportunity to cooperate with the Ascians once, and I will do so once more.” He looks towards his former companion. “Sahri...Azem. My friend. Thou hast every reason to hold me in contempt for my secrets. But know I only kept them because I trusted thee to follow thy justice regardless. If this be thy justice’s new form…” The man’s eyes narrow. “I will see Master Louisoux and Moenbryda’s legacies to completion in defiance.”

_Crack._

The woman reels. She can hardly pull herself together before--

“Moonbeam.”

Y’shtola throws out an uppercut in the form of her pet name. Forget fractures--Persephone was falling to pieces.

“Sh...Shtola,” she replies, little life in her voice.

“I...had truly hoped for more from you,” the woman tells her with no animosity--only sincerity. Persephone’s stomach twists into painful knots. “I held the utmost faith you would claim victory over your despair--but it is clear, now, that I was missing the larger picture. If I had known the impact of your encounters with Emet-Selch…” She shakes her head. “No. That lays in the past. In the present, you stand before me--reborn as the Ascian Azem. I echo the sentiments of all who have spoken before me. If you believe our past will cause me to hesitate…” Her glare runs Persephone through. “You are wrong. Azem, you will not live to see this world’s--any world’s--destruction.”

Five times, the Scions had spoken. Five times, they had rebuked Persephone. Rebuked her love. Rebuked her outstretched arms. Her hopes had come to dust. Only one small glimmer remained. One girl who had presently traded her voice for internal strife.

“Alisaie,” Persephone calls to the girl, tone even. “And what of you? Will you reject me, as well?”

Alisaie clenches the fist she held to her chest. She takes a steadying breath, opens her eyes...and what does Persephone find in them but yet more resolve?

“Sahri….I.” The woman can see on her face how she searches for words. She never possessed the natural eloquence of her brother. ”...I am honestly...not certain how this could have happened. What...what could have gone on in your mind to lead you here. I suddenly feel...as if I knew nothing of the struggles you faced, however much I wished to.” Her tone grows firmer. “I have not given up on Ga Bu...and I won’t give up on you either, Sahri.” It was most difficult for a girl to let go of a broken idol, after all. “But if you are going to claim that our lives have no value...That we are too feeble, too flawed, better off dead...I will never agree with you. You are wrong!” 

Tears well in the girl’s eyes. “Maybe we are broken. Maybe we have no real hope for our futures. But we are _alive_. We all deserve happiness--wherever we can find it. Our lives are temporary, but the time left to us is precious. That is what Tesleen believed--and I choose to believe it, as well. You aim for an end where all now alive die in gruesome pain--where they watch their loved ones do the same. What a horrid thing to wish for! No world could be worth that, no matter how beautiful! If I must raise my blade against you to prevent that...I will! I will carry your conviction for you, Sahri!”

The final blow. 

Fractures give way, and something vital inside Persephone shatters to ruin. Its pieces float away on a desolate breeze.

Twin tears streak down Persephone’s face. Her husband, recognizing that the Scions have finally said their piece, at last lets out his sigh. He places a comforting hand on the woman’s back.

“I did fairly warn you that they would not understand. But I know that renders its sting no less painful.”

Those are the words Hades says, but the ones which float into her head are an altogether different matter.

_“Give them the villain they crave, I say.”_

Though her tears continue to fall...a small smile rises to Persephone’s face.

“So, this is your answer…”

She laughs.

It is a tiny laugh, followed by a giggle. And another. Another...They grow in intensity til the woman lets out a whole-hearted chuckle.

“So this is your answer,” she repeats, smile widening. “I extend to you my hand...and this is your answer!” _It meant nothing_ , she thinks, tears rolling down her cheeks with more force. _In the end, it meant nothing at all!_

Persephone breaks into laughter once more--a fit of it, as she continues to weep. It is not jovial--not elegant--but ugly. Ugly, cruel, hateful, only increasing in volume. Just when she thinks she’s content to laugh herself hoarse, Hades intervenes. 

“Calm, now, Azem. Take care not to lose your composure.” Though he may come off as stern, Persephone recognizes the affection--and concern--in is voice. She does not fail to notice how his hand at her back subtly moves to wrap around her waist, pulling her ever so slightly closer to him. 

Yes...yes, she remembered. There was still one man she could always rely on. One love that truly mattered. Persephone quiets herself and closes her eyes, tears slowing. Yet her smile does not fall.

Sufficiently convinced of his wife’s calm, Hades next shoots the Scions the most hateful of glares.

“Look at you. Look at you cretins, standing there so proudly,” he says with anger. “I told Azem that it would be best to keep our encounter brief--that she should stay guarded about her motives until she was more comfortable with her new state of affairs. And yet, fresh off her ascension, she insists the very first thing she must do is bear her feelings to you lot. Even recognizing the wretched shape in which Hydaelyn has left her new humanity, she continued to hold an attachment to you. Continued to have hope, though she insisted she would keep her expectations in check. For that is the nature of her boundless love...the very trait that makes her so suited to the seat of Azem.”

“And you!” His tone wells with disgust. “You listen to her heartfelt plea, her concessions, the chance she offered you for potential beyond your miserable existence...You listen and lash out at her vulnerability, rebuking her in the cruelest possible manner!”

“We only responded to her love with our own,” Y’shtola counters. “With the truth resident in our own hearts.”

“Love?” Hades scoffs. “Is this how heroes show their love? Show their kindness? Show their appreciation? Elidibus has outdone himself. Little wonder there are so many villains that rise to meet you.” He shakes his head. “Your kind still finds a new way to disappoint me by the day. And you lot, in particular, have outlived any interest I may have once held.” 

Hades raises his arm to the sky, a swirling dark tempest crackling to life overhead. It grows to the outskirts of Amity and beyond, showing little sign of stopping. Any denizens not already spying on the confrontation in the hamlet’s main square now poured outside, gawking in terror at the sky above. 

“What in the--Was that what the night sky looked like the first time, darling?” Chai-Nuzz asks his trembling wife in panic. Thancred swears, drawing his gunblade. 

“Bloody hells. It seems we’ve invoked his ire. Stay on your guard, all of you!” he instructs. “Protect the civilians first!”

“The civilians? I would be much more concerned about myself,” Hades warns. Pillars of flame begin to lower from the sky. “Farewell. Pray that the next time you are reborn, it will be as your complete selves.”

Hades moves to lower his arm...but a hand catches it before he puts his spells into motion.

“Now, now. Don’t you think that’s a bit wasteful, love?” Persephone smiles up at her husband. 

“Wasteful?” The man frowns. “Do not tell me you still wish to spare these fools.”

“It’s not that,” she assures him. “I simply believe our friends could be of further use to us. Or at the minimum, serve some entertainment value.”

“A game, then?” Hades laughs to himself. “Colour me curious.” The man snaps his fingers, darkness fading once more to harsh light. The Scions relax in varied relief. “Well? Out with it.”

“It’s simple, really,” she explains. Her smile does not falter. “Why not renew your experiment as the both of ours?”

“Experiment?” Hades quirks a brow. “The test of their worthiness as allies, you mean? I would imagine that rather moot with you now defected.”

“It need not be,” Persephone tells him. “After all, there is one among the Scions who could fill my role in my place. One possessed of Hydaelyn’s blessing, herself--and a strong affinity for the light, besides.” She turns to her former allies, eyes locking onto one in particular. Her smile is most cruel.

“Isn’t that right, Ryne-bean?”

The girl’s blue eyes fill with terror, and she staggers back. Thancred steps in front of her in protective impulse.

“You wish to send _Ryne_ after the Lightwardens next? After what their aether did to you?” the man asks in disbelief and disgust. “Not on my life!”

“Oh? And here I thought Ryne had told me this was _your_ idea in the first place. Your backup plan if I never arrived. I must be mistaken.” Thancred grimaces, eyes widening. “Though I do wonder--What will you do instead?” Persephone asks, tapping her cheek in thought. “Sit idly by as the First inexorably fades to the light? Or do you perhaps intend to trap the light within your own essence? Please. You would be a Warden before you finished absorbing the first.” 

“I…” Thancred looks to the ground, unable to find an appropriate response. Ryne walks to his side, placing her hand on his arm.

“She’s...she’s right, Thancred,” the girl tells him. He looks at her in shock. “It is...horrifying, but she is right.” Thancred turns to Urianger, searching for reassurance but finding none. 

“...I can think of no other potential candidates for the light’s vessel,” Urianger admits with some shame.

“Even if that is true…” Alisaie walks to Persephone, staring her in the eyes. “I realize you are angry, but this? What in the world has come over you? Sahri--”

“You will call me _Azem_ ,” the woman snaps cooly, glyph roaring to life before her face. Alisaie recoils in shock and says not another word. Content, Persephone’s glyph dissipates, and she turns to her husband once more.

“Well? What do you think of that, Emet?” she asks with a smile.

“What I think?” The man grins ear to ear. “What I think is that I may have just fallen in love anew. How delightfully cruel, and fascinating besides. You have my full endorsement.”

“Excellent.” Persephone turns back to the Scions. They looked upon her with a potent mix of betrayal, sadness, anger. Horror. This actually was quite enjoyable, with the requisite emotional ties first severed. “Well, then. I believe your next order of business would be to put that giant Talos in motion and charge up Mt. Gulg to face Vauthry.” Her tone darkens. “You would all so forcefully reject my words? Then consider this your opportunity to prove me wrong. Make the most of it, for you will not get another.” 

“Sahri, please stop this,” Alphinaud begs. “This need not be who you are!” 

Persephone scoffs. “How many times must I say it? That is not my name. You will call me Azem.” She smiles once more. “It will come with time, I suppose. You can rest assured I will check in on you often. I would dearly like to keep abreast of how my friends are faring, after all.”

“Indeed,” Hades agrees. “Though...do expect some delay until next we meet. There are many more introductions to be made, after all. Especially back in the Source...Oh, the look on the Eorzean Alliance’s faces will be most amusing.”

“You wouldn’t--” Y’shtola’s eyes flare with anger, the look in Persephone’s own telling her that they absolutely would. “Damn you! Damn the both of you!” The woman pulls out her staff, casting a large flare to descend upon the two. Moments before it makes contact, Persephone speaks.

“Best of luck with Vauthry!” she wishes, the sound of the explosion drowning out any further words. 

When the dust settles, naught is left in the Ascians’ place. Naught except a fracture in the earth upon which Persephone had stood. 

  
  


……………………………………………………………………………………….

  
  


“...She, too, could remember if she put in the effort. I rather suspect she is already beginning to, even without our help. Unfortunately, she seems intent on denying it to herself. In the end, there is nothing for it.”

Persephone sighs sadly. “It’s a shame, truly. I…I dearly hope that the three of us will be able to laugh together again, one day.” Hades places a hand on the woman’s back, giving his wife a comforting smile.

“We will, my dear. We will. We need only work to make it so.”

The Ascian couple stands atop a Kholusian cliffside overlooking Amity, watching as the oblivious Scions recover from their encounter and scurry around to put their next steps into motion. Curiously, no Talos had yet risen in the horizon--perhaps they would not take the most obvious course, after all. That, or they were first redoubling their preparations. Both seemed like most likely prospects--very typical for the Scions she knew. The Scions to whom Persephone had become their newest enemy. Hades notices her staring and gives her a light shake.

“My expectations are low, but you know this lot better than I. How do you rate their chances now that you have left their fold?” the man inquires.

“...Higher than you might expect,” she tells him. “They are a stubborn bunch, always exceeding the expectations placed upon them.” The woman attempts to hide the sorrow in her tone. “We accomplished much together that we by all reason should not have. One can never underestimate the Scions’ ability to rebound from their lowest points. Of course, none of that matters if Ryne cannot contain the Wardens’ light. She will be the one to watch.”

She makes a small noise of surprise when Hades’ hand slides up from her back to the side of her head. He gently pulls her against his chest and begins to run his fingers through her hair, drawing a quiet, contented purr.

“The pain will fade,” he assures her, letting her know he’d seen through her facade. “After all, it is not as if you’ve traded these comrades for nothing. You’ve traded them for everything--for new comrades with which you have truer, everlasting bonds. Meeting them should prove soothing. Elidibus, in particular, will undoubtedly be delighted to see you.” Hades wraps his other arm around her waist, tightening the embrace. “Our path is a lonely one, I admit, but the one solace is standing with those who know you like no other.”

Persephone smiles, discord in her heart calming. She returns her husband’s embrace, pressing herself against him.

“I cannot imagine it will be too lonely,” she tells him. “After all, I will be with the one man who matters most.”

“...That is true. With me, you are never alone, Persephone.” He presses a kiss to the top of her head, prompting the slightest twitch of his wife’s ears. They stand together in peaceful silence, but for one of them, it is cut woefully short.

“There you are. I’ve been searching for you, Sahri,” Persephone hears in a familiar voice. She opens her eyes and finds a shade standing before her. 

“...Ardbert?” The man wears a guarded look of discomfort.

“Ardbert?” Hades repeats in confusion. “Was that not the ‘hero’ of this shard who slew Mitron and Loghrif both?”

“He is,” Persephone confirms, disentangling from her husband's arms to face her ghostly companion. “And he is here, speaking to me, though you cannot see him.” She pauses. “...Though I understand if that sounds ludicrous.”

“Hmm…” Hades narrows his eyes and takes a few steps in Ardbert’s direction, scrutinizing what to him must have appeared as naught more than empty space. Eventually, he gives a small hum of interest. “I can sense the faintest presence, actually. How curious.” As he continues to study the man, Persephone takes the chance to speak with her counterpart.

“...Is there something you wanted to say, Ardbert?” she asks, somewhat terse. Best to tread lightly before she can ascertain how much he knows.

“...Much,” he tells her, folding his arms. “I lost track of you some time after the preparations for the giant Talos were underway. Usually, I can find my way towards you regardless of where you are, but this time you had simply vanished. When I realized you’d reappeared, I came here as fast as I could. I happened to pass your friends from the Source along the way--they seemed rather troubled.”

Persephone gives him a disapproving frown. “Have I not asked you to allow me my private moments?” She expects the man to look ashamed, but he shows no signs of it. 

“You have. I was about to leave you be, but I overheard part of your discussion,” he explains. She had nothing to hide, then. Persephone cracks a smile.

“I take it you have opinions on the matter,” she taunts. Ardbert’s expression breaks into a scowl.

“You have really thrown your lot in with the Ascians?” he asks. Persephone says nothing, but continues to smile. “With all due respect, are you daft?! You should know better than anyone that they are not to be trusted!” His anger grows every time she declines to respond. “What have they promised you? To save the Source from some disaster? Whatever it is, that promise is empty, Warrior of Light. Working with them is a fool’s errand, every time!”

“You’re almost correct,” she finally tells him. “I am not working _with_ the Ascians.” The woman summons her glyph, Ardbert recoiling. “I _am_ an Ascian. Pray call me by my title--Azem.” 

Hades snickers. “What I would give to see his reaction to that.” The man returns to his wife’s side, placing his hand upon her shoulder. “There is something you may find most interesting, by the way.”

“Oh?” Persephone tilts her head.

“That none but you are able to see him suggests a certain...affinity between your souls,” Hades explains. “Upon closer inspection, I am certain. Your spirits are all but identical. Ardbert was not merely your counterpart as this world’s Warrior of Light. No, he _is_ you. Your soul’s shard stranded in the First.” The man shakes his head. “Now I am glad I left Elidibus to deal with him. To see you had been reborn into _that_ body would have been strange indeed.”

“You and I are...the same person?” Ardbert repeats aloud. “I...had begun to suspect as much, actually…”

“That does make a certain degree of sense,” Persephone agrees. “So when we Rejoin the First, Ardbert will become a part of me…”

“When you--What?! No!” Ardbert draws his axe. “I will not let you! Not after everything my friends gave to save this world!”

“You won’t let me?” Persephone lets out a small laugh of disbelief. “With what body, exactly?” 

“I…” Ardbert’s eyes go wide, then slowly fade into sorrow. “Nothing...I can do nothing at all…” He lowers his axe, slumping to one knee--defeated.

“You do not need to wait for a Rejoining, you know,” Hades cuts in. 

“Hm?” The woman furrows her brow. “What do you mean by that?”

“He’s right there, isn’t he?” Hades asks, gesturing vaguely in Ardbert’s direction. “You can claim this shard here and now--become that much closer to whole.”

Terror fills Ardbert’s eyes. He rises to his feet, slowly backing away. Persephone looks upon his fright...and laughs. In a flash, dark bonds pin Ardbert in place.

“It’s really that simple?” she asks, walking towards him. Hades grins along with her.

“Indeed it is,” he confirms.

“You...you cannot do this!” Ardbert pleads as Persephone looms ever closer. How powerless he was to resist. “Minfilia--She said I had a role yet to play. I cannot...I cannot disappear before--”

“Minfilia is dead,” Persephone interrupts him. “And so are you.” She reaches out her hand.

“Now. Come home to me, Persephone.”

  
  
  
  
( _Eight times has the Ascian Azem been Rejoined.)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Azem: *razes down city*
> 
> Emet-Selch: My wife is a queen and an icon
> 
> Scattered thoughts:
> 
> I had a [short exchange on Twitter](https://twitter.com/Igeyorhm/status/1340009569699819520) about what Azem's glyph might look like, and I really like some of the ideas--def helped visualize Sahri/Persephone's glyph when writing. Btw if you need to directly inject the Ascian lore into your veins the resource the original post is wonderful & detailed, big kudos to @Igeyorhm ^^
> 
> My gf introduced me to a Y'shtola-is-a-shard-of-Hythlodaeus theory and the game probably won't bear that out but whatever I'm running with it in this fic cuz it's interesting chalk it up to more au
> 
> Also shoutout to Urianger for making me actually look up archaic english


	3. Resonant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Garlemald's heart reveals itself to Persephone, and they become one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Turns out the very next thing I started after Chapter 2 was this...and I accidentally doubled the fic's length, whoops. I'm going to actually mark this as incomplete now as I absolutely have ideas for more chapters, though they may not be the very next things I work on! Been itching to do some Thancred stuff back in canonland among others. 
> 
> Considered whether to put a graphic violence warning but decided against it since I don't actually describe the imagery, but if that's a potential thing for you tread lightly please! 
> 
> Tags are updated, read em~
> 
> I am so sorry to Varis fans, I bully him a loooooot here.

The heavy, rhythmic clang of sabatons against the cermet floor accompanies the low whir of machinery in filling the silence of Garlemald’s throne room. Its emperor paces back and forth before the stairs leading to the eponymous seat of power, hands folded behind his back, head bowed in thought. His ‘son’ had requested an audience--no doubt to discuss his purge of those who would spread rumours about his ‘demonic possession.’ Varis had kept abreast of his efforts, and the Ascian dwelling in his progeny’s skin proved ruthless in his efficiency. His surety of purpose beyond all measure. A most fearsome ruler would this Elidibus make.

Or was it a most fearsome ruler he _made_ , Varis asks himself as he casts a glance to his throne. These days, it seemed to be his in name only. Though a Garlean banner sat above it, it may as well have been another symbol for the Ascians’ supremacy. His dear grandfather and Elidibus both ran roughshod over his agenda, and though they worked towards the same end, the two viewed him as little more than another chess piece in their games. 

Varis spits at the seat that was meant to be his. His goals were greater than this empire alone--no, he would unite all mankind under a new kind of nation, as he would unite all shards of their souls. The Ascians no doubt intended to dispose of him once the Rejoinings were complete, but they knew not the storm which lay in waiting. Humanity’s restored might would be their doom--their undoing. One day, he would regard Emet-Selch with a sneer of his own, when the man stood dying at the end of his blade. Show him reciprocal contempt for his existence, as his grandfather had directed towards him in his every waking memory. That thought and that thought alone carried Varis through his most humiliating moments--that allowed him to stay ever walking forward.

“My. Your countenance is even more frightening than usual, dear grandson. Catch you at a bad time, perhaps? I would tell you I am sorry, would it not be a grave lie.”

The emperor suppresses a grimace as he turns towards the voice’s source. There, down the red carpet, stood the very demon who haunted his thoughts, regarding him with his typical smug expression. Unusually for such a lonesome man, beside him stood a companion: a figure of a most diminutive stature dressed in full Ascian garb. Wonderful. As if two were not enough. This new, unknown Ascian wore a self-satisfied smile much like Emet-Selch’s own--almost as if they had learned as such from him. They cast a glance about the room, mask rendering their expression unreadable. 

“This is the Garlean throne room, then?” Varis hears in a surprisingly high-pitched voice. It was not one he recognized. 

“Indeed it is, my dear,” Emet-Selch tells them, placing a hand on their back. “What do you think of it?” Something vile stirs in the emperor’s stomach--he’d never seen the man display such a small gesture of affection, with even his own wife and children. Suddenly, this new demon was worthy of the same overpowering resentment with which he held his grandsire. 

“...Certainly grand, but it is rather dreary,” the Ascian responds to their companion. “I suppose I should not be surprised, given the interiors of the various Garlean facilities I have infiltrated.” 

Emet-Selch shrugs in amusement. “Dreary, she says. And so it is. Garlemald has a long history of such harsh, droll architecture, and I was rather disinclined to correct their aesthetic sensibilities.” The man grins. “Empires can thrive on pomp, however--perhaps what this palace needs is a fresh perspective. A woman’s touch.”

“A woman’s touch? And in what millennium did you pick up such a foolish sentiment?” The Ascian scoffs, folding her arms. “If you expect me to liven up the place, you set yourself up for sore disappointment.” A woman, then. Varis had never chanced to meet a female Ascian, but he supposed it only made sense that they would exist. A most disturbing sound interrupts his thoughts, sending a shudder down his spine. The sound of his grandsire’s laugh, utterly devoid of scorn.

“I jest, of course,” Emet-Selch tells her, and the woman grants him a contented smile. “Your talents would be squandered, leaving you to such. Your time is much better spent on your most unique contributions to our cause.” The woman’s smile...turns stomach-churning in its affection.

“Perhaps so. Though I consider any time with you well-spent, love.”

_Love._

As if the man was _capable_ of such.

Varis has half a mind to pull out his revolver then and there.

“Have you not returned to my throne room with some purpose?” Varis asks, cutting off their banter--finally finding his voice. It so often fled in the presence of the man who had made his life this living hellscape. “Or have you only come here to gawk with this...associate of yours?”

“ _Your_ throne room? How audacious.” Emet-Selch shakes his head, beginning to walk towards him. The Ascian woman follows. “Though you are correct--I’d hoped to introduce the prince to our new colleague, but I see he is disappointingly absent.”

“...He will be here in a matter of moments,” Varis informs him, scowl deepening. Emet-Selch claps his hands together in glee. 

“Most fortuitous timing on our part, then! We shall just have to wait here with you.” The Ascians finally arrive in front of the emperor, coming to a stop. To Varis’ surprise, the woman extends a hand. 

“Varis,” she says. “A pleasure to see you again.” Not a hint of sincerity in her voice. Just the same as her _love._ Varis glares at her, refusing to take her hand. She eventually catches on and lowers it, yet her irritating smile does not fall.

“You are mistaken,” he tells her, terse. “We have never met, Ascian.” He cannot see behind her mask, but he imagines she raises an eyebrow in tandem with the tilt of her head.

“Oh, but we have,” she insists. “Albeit briefly, I admit. I did keep rather tight-lipped on both occasions, so I suppose I cannot blame you for forgetting my voice.” Tight-lipped, she said, but she seemed more than eager to run her mouth now. Varis narrows his eyes, scrutinizing her. Upon closer inspection, there was some slight familiarity in the features he could see, as well as in the way the woman carried herself. But her mask and hood concealed far too much to make any sort of determination. 

It was most unusual, her mask. Ostentatious. Unlike the other elite Ascians, its base was black, though it was clear she was not one of the rank-and-file. Uneven streaks of scarlet radiate from its center, clearly meant in imitation of the sun. Where these rays would continue from its bottom, the mask extended in small lines, rendering its shape a distinctive one. 

The sun...Decidedly pompous, even for an Ascian.

“I would _appreciate_ you not staring at her as such, dear grandson,” Emet-Selch cuts in. Ah. There was the scorn with which Varis was so familiar. 

“It would not be required, would you Ascians only dispense with the pretense,” the emperor spits back. He looks towards the woman. “What have you to hide? Remove that ridiculous mask of yours.”

“You will _not_ speak to her in such a tone,” his grandfather scolds with the air of a threat, but the woman herself seems unbothered.

“Hmm…” She taps her knuckles to her cheek in thought. “I suppose there is no reason to hide my face here, actually.” She begins to reach towards her mask. “Very well. I--”

They are interrupted by the deafening sound of the throne room’s doors being pushed open. 

“Ah. What an unexpected presence--I thought you still mired in the First, Emet-Selch.” 

Zenos--or rather, Elidibus inhabiting the man’s form--strides into the room, gesturing for the guards to shut the door behind him. 

“Ah, Elidibus,” Emet-Selch greets as the door shuts with a resounding _thud_. “Glad to have you join us. I was beginning to grow a tad impatient.”

“It seems that you’re the one arriving late to this encounter, Elidibus,” the Ascian woman quips. “Though this is one occasion in which we need not clash.”

Strangely, Elidibus furrows his brow. “And who is this you have brought to join us?” he asks. So he did not know, either. The ghoul of Varis’ son comes to stand beside the emperor, and one pair now faces the other.

“Oh, simply our newest ally,” Emet-Selch tells his comrade, grin insufferable. Unbearable. “A prize I happened across in the First--and perhaps our order’s greatest stroke of luck in millenia.”

“A stroke of luck, you say?” Elidibus closes his eyes, concentrating intently. In an instant, they fly back open in perhaps the greatest fury Varis has ever seen the Ascian wear on his son’s face. “What--What is the meaning of this, Emet-Selch?” he demands, his voice briefly wavering from his usual calm.

“You’d best keep my darling progeny waiting in suspense no longer, my dear,” Emet-Selch tells the increasingly mysterious Ascian who stands beside him. “Both are quite prone to flights of irritability.”

“Of course,” the woman agrees. “As I was saying before Elidibus arrived, there is no reason to hide my face.” The woman’s metal claws take delicate hold of her mask in one hand, her hood in the other. She pulls both down.

The taste of bile graces Varis’ tongue at what he sees.

…………………………………………………………………………………………

Shock, anger, disgust--Persephone relishes in a certain satisfaction at watching each run across the eternally taciturn Varis’ face. She hangs her mask on her robe--a mask of a design she and Hades had conjured together, salvaged from an age lost. (An age that would be once again.) The woman preferred her typical attire to this uniform garb, she admits. She was much like her husband, in that sense. Still, there was some novelty in wearing the ensemble for the first time. Yet Varis found little to be amused about.

“E--Eorzea’s _Warrior of Light_?” the emperor sputters in an uncharacteristic lapse of discipline. Persephone’s smile grows into a grin. “One of your number takes residence in _her_ body?”

“Nay, Varis.” Elidibus stands guarded. A pity--could the man not recognize one of his own on sight? “This woman is no Ascian, but the Warrior of Light in truth. Our fiercest foe, who Emet-Selch has ferried _most inexplicably_ into Garlemald’s heart.” Varis seems not to know what to do with this information, face contorting in indecipherable ways.

“Oh, thank goodness,” Hades sighs in relief. “For a moment, I feared we would need to relitigate this mistaken identity nonsense.”

“In the First, I actually came to be known as a Warrior of Darkness,” Persephone informs the Garlean emperor and his false scion. “I believe I much prefer that title.”

Elidibus glares at her, cold. “I care little whether you consider yourself of light or darkness. You pose the same threat to the fate of our star.”

“Elidibus,” Hades tuts. “Do not tell me you failed to recognize her soul when you first met?” Elidibus stares at him blankly, and Hades places an annoyed head to his hand. “For your information, esteemed Emissary, she is most certainly an Ascian. Is that not correct, Azem?”

“Indeed.” Persephone summons her glyph in demonstration. Elidibus, in turn, lowers his head unto his hand.

“That glyph…” Zenos’ borrowed face takes on a sickly pallor. “A...Azem, you say…?”

“Yes. She is Azem,” Hades repeats. Elidibus says nothing, but Persephone picks out some intense strain behind his eyes. Hades makes a small noise of understanding, and his voice is solemn when he speaks once more. “...Ah. Lost to the ages as well, then...Needless to say, she is an ally. The fourteenth seat of the Convocation of Fourteen.”

“That’s right…” Elidibus’ voice is low, breathy. “Fourteen...was always in the name. Wasn’t it…?” 

Realization sets in--Persephone was most familiar with the pain colouring his expression. The acute sorrow of knowing you had forgotten something vital. The woman had never formed much of an impression of Elidibus as a man, so she is not certain whether to be surprised at the hints of wetness in his eyes. It certainly ill-suited Zenos’ face. Yet despite it all, her heart stirs with familiarity, with a yearning to comfort the man. She takes a step towards Elidibus, reaching up to place a hand on his shoulder, drawing his gaze. It was...vulnerable. She gives him an earnest smile.

“Take your time, Elidibus,” she says in a gentle voice, feeling a resonance with some fleeting memory. “I, too, have much I have forgotten. We have an eternity to come to know each other once more.” Elidibus nods at her almost imperceptibly, his eyes gravitating back towards the floor--Persephone could see him drift somewhere else, somewhere far from here. She decides to leave him be.

“You were ever one to coddle him,” Hades muses with unmistakable nostalgia. 

“Was I?” More of herself she must reclaim, then.

“Oh, yes. As I recall, you checked in on him near every day you were in Amaurot--and when you were afar, you constantly bid me to deliver him your letters. How fond you were of him. One might almost mistake you for a fussing mother unable to accept her child had long since found adulthood.”

 _Mother_ strikes Persephone strangely--especially in how it echoed with the faintest affection. She wishes to press the point further, but a man she’d all but forgotten still stood in the room is eager to reassert his presence.

“This empire’s founder is an Ascian...The champion of the savages in Eorzea and Othard both is an Ascian…” How powerless Varis seemed in his self-righteous fury. “Not only did you most intentionally cultivate a brutal war of succession for the throne, but you also puppeted she who unified Eorzea in their war effort against us?! How many of our best men have been lost to this Azem?” Persephone notices a vein bulging in the man’s face. “You Ascians lurk in every shadow...Have your hands in every side of every conflict!”

“That _is_ rather our purpose, yes,” Hades tells him with characteristic glibness. Persephone has much more of a mind to quell this unhelpful anger.

“If it serves to soothe you, my involvement with the Ascians is a very recent development,” the woman says, drawing Varis’ attention away from his grandsire. “Only on my recent trip to the First did I awaken to my purpose. Rest assured, I fully intend to devote myself to Garlemald’s side of the war effort going forward.” Thankfully, the man’s rage quells, his face returning to the stern but stoic demeanour one would expect from Garlemald’s emperor. He rests his fingers on his chin, considering her words.

“You would fight alongside us?” he asks. Persephone’s smile returns.

“I would. Just imagine how dispiriting it would be for the…” She decides to test out a word. “For the savages’ alliance to see their precious Warrior of Light standing against them. They would utterly collapse.” How bitter, that word tasted--one leveraged against her time and time again. It would ingratiate her to Garlemald, at the very least, and there _was_ a certain truth to it. The Garleans needed not know they were as much savages as the Eorzeans. 

“Your assistance would be a strategic coup,” Varis agrees, folding his arms. He narrows his eyes at her. “And yet, I find myself baffled. You claim you are not an Ascian puppeteer, but the Warrior of Light _become_ an Ascian? The very same woman who had the gall to tell me the Ardor required too many lives as sacrifice is now eager to usher in the necessary Calamities?” 

“...I was a fool, then,” she sighs. “Knew not of what I spoke as I danced to Hydaelyn’s tune. The ‘lives’ of a few malformed creatures mean little when compared to the peace Lord Zodiark will return to us. The world I now remember so vividly.” Varis could remain unaware of the staggering amount of gaps which lingered in said memories.

“Malformed...You smile as he does, and you speak just the same. Have you no will aside from that of the master which directs you?” The emperor draws back his lips to reveal clenched teeth. “You--you know better than any else the falsity of the Ascians’ claims. You demonstrated the strength to slay more than one of their order, as a mortal and savage both. So why? Why would you cast that aside to be assimilated? Is it power you seek? Eternal life?” His eyes light in flame, fire all too similar to his grandsire’s. He sweeps his arm before him. “Or has this man actually convinced you he has the capacity to _love_? Is that what has rendered you traitor to your race, to your very kind?!”

Missing not a beat, her Hades takes a step forward--ever eager to rise to her defense. Did he always act as such?

“Varis.” There is a rare, seething anger in his voice. “Twice have I warned you to maintain your decorum with Azem, yet you fail to heed me. How might I possibly make myself--”

Whatever threat the man planned to make crumbles to dust at the piercing sound of his wife’s laughter. Persephone places a hand on his shoulder. 

“Take care not to lose your composure, Emet,” she teases. “There is no need to rise to anger. Not at the hollow words of a hollow man.” Hades’ posture relaxes, silently agreeing to allow her lead. Content, Persephone turns back towards the emperor, her each step forward echoing through the silent hall. She stands before him and cranes her neck upwards--hoping Varis finds her smirk sufficiently aggravating. 

“I believe I understand what this is about, Varis.”

The man does not shift from her gaze. “Anything except the content of my words?” he asks dryly.

Persephone stifles a chuckle. “You really are his grandchild. Varis…” She shakes her head. “Is it possible that my deeds--the deeds of the Warrior of Light--once granted you a measure of _hope?”_

“Hope?” The man’s nostrils flare. “Why would I possibly require the _hope_ of the savages’ paragon?”

“If said Paragon served as kindling for the grandest of your visions, perhaps?” Her grin grows wicked when she sees a flash of timidity across the emperor’s eyes. What a craven, possessed of a spine worthy of a pawn. “Proof that man could overcome Ascian, even sundered--that a recompleted mankind united under your keen leadership could wipe them from the pages of history, once and for all?”

“Is _that_ what you were plotting?” Hades interjects with an air of amusement. “I was certain you must have some plan in mind, but to think it so crude...I had hoped I’d imparted a tad more sophistication in you, Varis.” The emperor grits his teeth, face the very picture of fury. (Of woe?)

“Had you wished to add my strength to yours?” Persephone continues, unrelenting. “Had you imagined that we might one day stand together against a mutual foe? That I would come to understand the _clarity_ and _wisdom_ of your so very esteemed path?”

“I never thought to rely on a _savage’s_ help,” the man spits back. “Yours is not the sole power capable of slaying an Ascian. Your death was always accounted for--a necessity for mankind’s liberation.” His anger renders his every feature sharp, harsh, shaded in shadow. “And it continues to be. Do not grow complacent in your wretched new form--mankind will one day repay you in full for your betrayal. I will make it so.”

“...Is that right?” 

Persephone’s grin fades, shrinking back to the smallest--the most threatening--of smiles. Her glyph manifests before her face. A frigid wind billows from nowhere, breeze whistling as the room’s temperature sharply drops. Flecks of ice glisten in the air behind her, gusts picking up to a howl. Despite himself, despite the heavy armour he wears, Varis shivers. 

“If you consider yourself capable of striking me down, why not do so now?” she asks the man, staff appearing in her hand. He attempts to move, but finds himself unable. Persephone basks in the fright that crosses his face when he glances downwards, finding the bottoms of his sabatons encrusted in ice. Ice that creeped ever upwards to engulf yet more, voracious. Light plays between the ice dancing through the air, a faint image taking form behind the Ascian woman--looming larger than anything else in the room. A woman’s form. One of blue. A love lost to Garlemald’s aggressive attempt to seize Azys Lla. Sigils take shape behind her, coalescing into a large halo, design in imitation of Persephone’s mask. A shining, golden sun, blinding in its radiance--bathing Shiva’s form in light.

“ **Have you naught to say?** ” Persephone’s voice is echoed by another, something primordial--something beyond humanity. In the blinding winter, the ice now reaches halfway up Varis’ legs. “ **Prove the weight behind your words. The vaunted strength laying dormant within mankind.** ” 

The emperor stands paralyzed, and not due to the ice. His fists are clenched, shaking, eyes wide as Persephone refuses to flinch from his gaze. As the encroaching ice reaches his chest, words finally spill forth from his lips.

“I do not intend to die today!” Varis yells, strained. For such a prideful man, he might as well have been beginning on his knees. 

“...That is what I thought.” Persephone snaps her fingers. The glyph, the looming woman, the ice filling the room--all dissipate in an instant. Varis crumples to his hands and knees. Persephone must note Elidibus still stood close to the emperor’s side--eyes locked on the floor, seemingly unfazed. How deep he must be in memory’s grip...So desperately she wanted to reach out, but she had a matter to attend to. Persephone walks behind Varis and places her boot on his back, the man grunting in exertion. She leans forward, coming as close to his ear as she can. 

“Do not forget your place, Varis,” she warns the man, voice low. “Like you I may once have been, but no longer. I am not your equal. I am a Shepherd, and you a beast to be herded.” She presses down on him with more exertion, earning a wince. “You will never understand the justice of our cause.” If _they_ didn’t, no man could. “So do not think to question it. You were born for the Ascians, and you will die for the Ascians. Direct Garlemald as we instruct you. If you raise a hand in defiance? Your body will make a most excellent vessel for one of our number. Do you understand?” 

The emperor’s weakened limbs shake, and Persephone could not be certain whether that was from fear or the weight she placed upon his back. Yet it was his silence that stood as truly important--acquiescence. She smiles once more, satisfied with the effect of her actions. 

“You find yourself in a rather bloodthirsty state of mind today, Azem.” Her husband walks to Persephone’s side, smile inscrutable. The woman lets out a small huff, finally removing her boot from Varis’ back. 

“Bloodthirsty?” she repeats, somewhat annoyed. “That was nothing more than a flourish of light. I never truly intended to _kill_ him. Only show him his place.”

“A rather chilling flourish of light.” Hades gives a shrug. “I prefer to rely on my words when intimidation becomes a necessity, though I suppose you _are_ first and foremost a warrior. Perhaps such displays suit you.” Though he reasons this to himself, Persephone sees it in his eyes--the hint of disquiet. Her stomach twists, experiencing a bizarre well of shame. 

“...Perhaps so.” The woman folds her arms and turns away, pacing forward. Why disquiet? Was it simply due to a lingering fondness for the family Hades had sired? She could not blame him, if so, as she would feel no differently. She should treat Varis a tad more delicately in the future. ...And yet, there was a more troubling possibility. The imperfections of a sundered self, of the strain this life had placed upon her spirit...Did they render her unrecognizable? Was she falling short of…?

She feels an arm around her back. “Brooding ill becomes you, my dear. That was decidedly not a criticism.” The love in Hades’ voice soothes her heart. “Each among our ranks employs their own varied tactics. And there is no denying the effectiveness of yours.” He gestures behind them towards Varis, the man just now staggering to his feet. “I daresay you’ve more efficiently set him in line than I have in years.” 

“...You’re welcome,” she tells him, smiling once more. She gives the man a light peck on the lips--no doubt Varis had opinions about the sight. Opinions he would keep silent. 

Persephone allows her gaze to turn before her, and her eyes come to rest on the Garlean throne. Though the room at large was drab, she had to admit the throne was something of a bright spot in its design. Marshaled by the red carpet and gold-plated stairs both, it was an intimidating yet surprisingly ornate sight. A black base and gold detailing came together to various points, the top of the seat even echoing the image of a crown. Yet to Persephone’s eye, its finest aspect was the faint blue light shining as its background. Was it ceruleum? A most interesting choice, if so--it served as a most excellent frame…

“Something catch your eye, Azem?” Hades asks with a smug tone.

“I was simply admiring the throne,” she explains. “This room may be drab, but it serves as a brilliant outlier.” 

“Is that so…” The man grins. “As my wife, it by all rights belongs to you as much as I. Why not take a seat on your throne?” 

“ _What?!_ ” Ah. The emperor could not keep his silence forever, it seemed. None in the room acknowledged his outburst.

“ _My_ throne, you say…?” Persephone laughs to herself. “An interesting suggestion...I may just have to pursue it.” The woman begins her approach, Hades turning and calling out to their silent companion. 

“Elidibus,” he says. The man snaps from his trance, acknowledging Hades for the first time in a fair few minutes. “Come along--Join us.”

“...Very well,” Elidibus agrees. 

He follows the two, each coming to a side of the woman now looking over the throne she stood before. She slides her hand across the armrest, metal claws faintly scraping along. This was the seat which directed the world’s greatest empire, not a corner of the world escaping its reach...A foe with which she’d clashed time and time again. The force responsible for the slaughter of the parents which had ushered her into this life...And here Persephone found herself, wed to its founder. Throne waiting for her to claim it. Life was ever a parade of ironies…

And so she sat. Feet planted firmly on the floor, one arm upon each rest. She casts a glance about the room. All of this...was hers. This vehicle of misery, of liberation, hers. Hers, in service of His supreme will...She cannot but beam, looking upon her current sole subject--Varis, his face a pathetic medley of anger and shock. How small he appeared. Persephone wills her glyph to life to finalize her claim--the claim of Azem, the Ascian. The Paragon once more working in service of the Convocation. 

She hears a small chuckle beside her, that of her husband. Clearly amused by her display, he wills his glyph to life as well. Elidibus scoffs, a faint smile rising to his face.

“I see you are no less prone to theatrics than he, Azem,” the man in the Garlean prince’s body muses. Persephone’s heart flickers with the warmth of familiarity. With a certain nonchalance, Elidibus waves his hand before his face, completing the trio of glyphs. All turn to face Varis. 

Garlemald’s imperial prince. The empire’s founding father. Eorzea’s Warrior of Light. Masks of scarlet light humming before their faces, these three were the true occupants of the heart of Garlean supremacy. Varis knows this, and thus his voice rises in anger. 

“I have never been more humiliated in my life!” he snaps, as if meant to instill some modicum of shame. The puppet of an emperor storms in the opposite direction, armour clattering on his way to the throne room’s massive doors. He pushes them open on his own, not bothering to greet the guards standing outside as he makes a sharp swerve down the hallway. The doors slam shut with a resounding thud, leaving the room in silence. 

“Sulking away in a huff...One would think the man was still a child,” Hades sighs in disapproval. He dematerializes his glyph, his companions following suit. “Jealous that the throne suits you far more than he, no doubt. You wear the look of a ruler splendidly, my dear.”

“Do I, now?” she asks. The woman relaxes her posture, crossing her legs, planting an elbow on the armrest, and leaning into her hand. “Perhaps I ought to try my hand at founding my own, one day. You do seem to have discovered a certain joy in it.” 

“My Azem, an emperor?” Hades closes his eyes, mulling over the thought. A smile rises to his face. “Yes...I can picture it now. When that day arrives, I will be certain to impart all I have learned.”

“Why not do so together, then?” she suggests. “Guide its development hand-in-hand as you teach me.”

His eyes turn bright. “Hand-in-hand...I daresay it may be the last empire we ever need found, Persephone.”

“Persephone…” Both glance towards the source of the sorrowful voice--Elidibus. His expression is unfailingly stoic. 

“Yes. That is my name--my true name,” she informs the man, smiling reassuringly. 

“Ah, yes. Now that Varis has departed, perhaps we may actually hold a productive discussion with our colleague. What say you, Elidibus?”

“...There is much I must voice,” Elidibus agrees. “Regarding this...new colleague. Azem.” 

“Anything you would like. I, in turn, have much to answer for.” 

“Indeed you do.” Elidibus scowls at her, though Persephone can make out that it is strained. “I cannot quite comprehend what brought about such a sudden change in heart, but if Emet-Selch deems you worthy of ascension, I will not question your conviction. And yet…” His eyes narrow. “I am Elidibus--the Emissary. My role is to guide our star on its proper course, regardless of whether I stand with my brothers or against them. You have long posed a grave threat to the balance of this star, drenching it in Hydaelyn’s light, even slaughtering our own…” Persephone’s heart plummets with the weight of a stone. Elidibus looks her over. “...And I see your soul has been made one with Ardbert’s. I lay his crimes at your feet, as well, then--the loss of our esteemed Loghrif and Mitron.”

The woman bites her trembling lip, glancing towards the floor. “...I would offer my apologies, but that alone would fall far from adequacy. Not for the cold-hearted murders of those who loved me most…” 

“Indeed, such would not remotely suffice,” Elidibus occurs. “Know this, Azem. If I continue to deem you a threat to fate’s intended course...I will not hesitate to strike you down. Colleague or no. Do I make myself clear?”

Persephone hangs her head. “...Of course. I would ask for nothing less.” For whatever reason, this disapproval from Elidibus...was most crushing. The woman looks up when she feels a hand on her shoulder.

“Elidibus, she is already aware of her grave missteps under Hydaelyn’s direction. Your anger is justified, and yet belaboring the point serves naught aside from diminishing the weight of her return.” Hades has taken on the demeanour of a scolding mentor. “This may be far more serious than any of her previous censures, but as before, Azem has always acted with purity of intention. Even if you do not recall as much, your heart surely does. Look into her eyes and see the truth.”

The woman swallows her guilt and turns towards Elidibus so he can do just that. His eyes are predictably intense, albeit framed by Zenos’ soft features. Somehow, Persephone’s sight pierces through those features…those eyes...to the true man hidden underneath. She could not see a face of Elidibus’ own, per se--not with a nose or eyes or lips. And yet, he possessed a particular visage, one so distinctly _his_ , mired in a fog. A visage most heart-wrenchingly familiar. Persephone strained to remember, she truly did--to recall this man as she had her Hades. Something loomed forward in her mind, a tingle of recollection, and yet it insisted on taking its time. As she struggles, Elidibus’ intensity shifts, softens--a glint of his own recognition, a certain sorrow accompanying, projecting from his shadowy visage unto Zenos’ eyes. The man sighs, averting his gaze. 

“...Perhaps we may contemplate a means to make amends,” he concedes. “To begin to restore the balance you destabilized.” The woman rises from her seat, taking Elidibus’ hand between hers. 

“Anything,” she pleads. “If you know of any way in which I might…” She lifts her hand, staring at its palm. She can see the blood on it--the blood of friends. Family. “...I might right the evils I committed in Hydaelyn’s wretched name...I will gladly take it upon my shoulders, no matter the burden.” Hades’ hand moves to block her view of her own, taking her hand in his and tangling their fingers together.

“If I may interject, I do have a suggestion on that matter. One I believe you both will find most sensible.” 

Elidibus shakes his head. “Of course you do, Emet-Selch. Speak it, then.” He and Persephone both look toward their emperor expectantly. 

“Azem upset the balance by slaying our comrades, yes?” he asks. Elidibus nods. “Then let us place her in charge of locating their replacements. Simple, yet elegant.” 

Persephone furrows her brow. “Their...replacements?”

“That is...shockingly straightforward, coming from you. And yet, I must agree on its elegance.” Elidibus rests his fingers upon his chin, eyes closed in contemplation. “By restoring our order to its full strength, Hydaelyn’s light may yet be beaten back. We have already recruited a new shard of Mitron...And though he will never be as he once was, we must wait the appropriate time for Lahabrea’s soul to reemerge from the Lifestream. Leaving…”

“Igeyorhm, Nabriales, and Loghrif, yes,” Hades finishes for him. “And of the three, I have already pinpointed a suitable successor for Loghrif. Azem is in prime position to pursue her--family is a most powerful bond, after all.”

 _Family?_ Persephone almost asks, but she stops herself. She could press the man at a later time. Instead, she turns to her husband, wearing an expression of concern.

“Are...the sundered Ascians truly so replaceable?” she inquires. “Any shard will suffice?” Hades is momentarily taken aback by her question, face falling, yet he quickly recovers with a cool smile. He wraps an arm around her in a half-embrace.

“That was not the message behind my words,” the man reassures her. “All shards of a soul are indeed _the same soul_ , so any may be returned to their former office. And yet, those of the Source will ever remain the truest, given how much closer they are to being recompleted. In many cases, those we have recruited from other shards will attempt to track down their equivalent in the Source for precisely that completeness.” That...was some comfort, she supposed. “Besides--Loghrif will not quite be a _replacement,_ but rather the very same as once inhabited the position.” 

“So your efforts in the First bore fruit even beyond Azem?” Elidibus gives a small laugh. “Ever making efficient use of your time. My endeavours in Garlemald seem most halting, in comparison.” He resumes his stern demeanour as he turns to Persephone. “You have your task, then. Consider this your opportunity to prove to me your value as Azem.” The woman snaps to attention. 

“I will not fail you,” she swears solemnly. Yet she cannot maintain it for long--she beams upon the man, eyes grateful. “Thank you, Elidibus,” she tells the man, squeezing his hand. “You are kind to afford me this chance…” 

Persephone could not have prepared herself for what she sees rise to his face--a slight pink flush of Zenos’ cheeks, somehow echoed in the true visage laying behind it. Turning his head, he fails to be subtle about clearing his throat.

“Y-Yes. All deserve their opportunity, I suppose.” He sounds ages younger than he did only moments before. Persephone is unable to stifle a hearty laugh, voice ringing with joy. Elidibus jolts his eyes back to her, face mortified, only spurring the woman’s laughter further. She pulls her hands from each man’s, one clutching her stomach as the other attempts to cover her mouth.

“I-I’m sorr--” she tries, but she cannot finish the sentence in earnest when she once more beholds Elidibus’ ever-darkening cheeks. How he tried and failed to hide his embarrassment! To convince her of his utmost seriousness! How ridiculous a display it was. After all, he was only...he was only……

Her laughter slows, its echoes resonating with the crevices of her mind--ages past reverberating anew. The memories which had been lumbering forward take a sudden leap, and she can envision a face--his true face. The face of a young man, striving to live up to the staggering heights to which his more experienced colleagues towered. A man whose youth she, for one, had refused to let him forget, much to his chagrin. Yes, the young man who took up the vacant role of Elidibus…

His name...His name was…

“...Asclepius?” Persephone lets out a small gasp as the name locks into place. While the man had been starting to smile in spite of himself, the mention of that name contorts his face to shock. “Asclepius…” Persephone repeats, smiling at the sound. “That’s right! That was your name...Asclepius, our…” She giggles, heart swirling with affection. “The Convocation’s little brother…”

“I was wondering when you would remember,” Hades comments, smiling himself. 

“Asclepius, you say…” There is a crushing weight in Elidibus’ voice, one that instinctively draws Persephone towards him. The memory of a young man, one who was a brother to her, tears pricking the corners of his eyes...How familiar a sight it was. She could not but recall--

...Young Alphinaud on the two’s carriage ride to Camp Dragonhead, in the bloody banquet’s wake…

_“I love you as well, Sister. And that is exactly why I choose to stand against you now.”_

No. Alphinaud, that wretched, sniveling, fragmented _wretch_ Alphinaud was but a pale imitation of her Asclepius. With the Convocation, she had a family in truth. No pathetic half-measures. Persephone throws her arms around the man’s shoulders. 

“You may not recall, but Asclepius is your name,” she reassures him with a kind smile. “I remember that, now.” And as memories are wont to do, one memory chains into another, links lingering even through their fragmentation. “How you insisted on a near-obsession with your work, even as we each encouraged you to take more time to appreciate the moment,” she muses with a shake of her head. Elidibus subtly trembles in her hold, eyes locked with hers. “It was all I could do to keep that youthful spark alive inside of you. All I could do to…” Her smile begins to fall. “I could do to……” Her lip trembles, the woman arriving at the end of her trail of memories. “...No...In the end, I could not do it. I could not spare you your fate…”

The woman relinquishes her embrace, clenching her hands into fists. Guilt tears through her body, not quelling when Hades now-familiarly attempts to comfort her with subtle touch. 

“I had dearly hoped you would take longer to stumble across your memories of those events…” He glances towards Elidibus, but the man is of no inclination to comment, his lips drawn into a thin line. “You remember the extent of our companion’s role, then, Persephone?”

“Pieces...But yes. I remember,” she confirms. _The knowledge, the memories I hold--They would crush you. Grind your spirit to dust._ Hades had been correct to warn her of the travails of remembering...She looks back up to Elidibus. “You....You are Zodiark, yes, Asclepius?”

“His heart,” he corrects her.

“Yes, His heart…” She continues to place the pieces together, tears welling in her eyes. “We...The Convocation sacrificed you to be so...and I could not stop them. I could not...save you…”

“I did not ask to be saved,” Elidibus asserts with more force. “I am Elidibus. Becoming His heart was the only way to restore balance to our star.”

“...You said something similar then, didn’t you?” Persephone recalls with some sorrow. “Ever one to treat your duties with the utmost gravity…”

“He is correct, Persephone.” Hades draws her attention. “In becoming the heart which served as Zodiark’s initializing intention, Asclepius’ purity of devotion provided a foundation which would not falter in restoring our star’s balance. No doubt you understood that, given you left us following his selection.”

“And what could I possibly have hoped to accomplish in doing that?” Persephone asks herself, bitter. “I abandoned you...my family...only to impotently succumb to Hydaelyn’s destruction.” She gives a small smile. “It is not only Asclepius I failed that day.”

“You erred, it is true,” her husband agrees. “An unfortunate case of your heart leading you astray. To avoid making such missteps in the future, my dear, you must learn to accept the necessity of sacrifice.”

“...Yes...It is often necessary, as painful as it feels each and every time.” The woman desperately attempts to suppress the rolling waves of faces lost in this life, as well as her true one, for this very necessity.

“Painful it may be, yet I would encourage you to focus on what such can accomplish, instead.” He smiles sweetly at her, lowering the woman’s guard. “Through Asclepius’ sacrifice, Lord Zodiark _did_ restore our star’s laws of nature, difficult as that may be to consider through Hydaelyn’s sundering. And because of Asclepius, He continues to guide us, and may one day reestablish our world as it was always meant to be. Through our loss, we gained much and more. Opportunities we may see to beautiful fruition.”

...Yes...Hades’ voice fuels another in her mind, one which clashes back against her guilt, wrangles it into line. Asclepius...pitiable, young Asclepius, a man who gave his life to a cause most noble. To undo the damage wrought by the Final Days, bring the world to peace once more. Under...under His justice. Her...Her Lord Zodiark...Yes, her Lord Zodiark’s justice. What sacrifice was not worthy, for Him? If there was aught for which she should weep, it was how the merciless Hydaelyn scorched their gains to the ground. She must tune her focus to that creature’s destruction, not to dwell over her past failings. Her past rejection of Him. 

When Persephone raises her head from thought, she wears an easy smile. Utterly calm.

“As usual, your words prove most wise. Thank you, my love.” She gives her husband a kiss on the cheek, to which he grins. When she looks upon Elidibus, the voice in her mind stirs a new thought. “Besides...Even with his sacrifice, Asclepius continues to walk among us. That we may continue to enjoy our colleague’s presence is nothing short of a blessing.” She moves to the man, placing her hands delicately upon his chest and sharply turns her neck upwards to meet his eyes. 

“Asclepius...There is much both of us have lost to the ravages of time. You and I--we are the same in that sense. Yet we need not struggle on our own. As Traveler and Emissary, our roles often intertwined, granting us abundant opportunity to labour alongside one another--that, I recall now. Perhaps not the specific instances...but I know it all the same.” The woman’s smile grows. “Let us work together, again. Together, Asclepius--let us remember.”

Though the rest of his face remains stoic, Elidibus’ eyes give away that he is on the brink of tears. The man wipes away the wetness from his eyes...And gives a firm shake of his head. 

“To remember...If it gives you meaning, Azem, pursue it as you wish. But if the name you call me by was once mine, it has long since ceased being so. I do not desire to remember, nor do I have any need. For I am Elidibus. So long as I remember my duty, that is enough.” 

“...What?” Persephone asks, thoroughly baffled. “Of course it is still your name. I do not understand. Would your memories not better inform your duty? Why...why could you possibly…?”

A hand on her shoulder. “Persephone. I...agree with your sentiments, I do. In fact, I’ve had an identical conversation with Elidibus many, many a time. He will not change his mind.” Persephone turns to him, finding him not bothering to mask the melancholy written over his face. Almost as if...as if they were the only two who truly stood in that throne room.

“I cannot begin to understand why,” she tells him. “But I take it you know something I don’t.”

“Again, I do.” The man gives a grave nod of his head. “This will become less common, I assure you.” He sighs. “Our friend’s nature as a primal renders his mind as a sieve in attempting to retain his memories. Even should you assist him in reclaiming a memory, he will assuredly lose it once more. He has decided it better to forget only once.”

“...I see…” She glances back at Elidibus, finding him expressionless. The reason he had forgotten was not Hydaelyn, but his very nature...Persephone could not imagine the pain of knowing the memories she held most dear would float away in the winds of time, no matter what she did to resist. The choice between that and not remembering at all...Well. How could she ever question the decision of one faced with so unenviable a position? 

“It is a cold reality, but one we all must accept,” Hades tells her. The woman nods in agreement.

“Indeed. His resolve is one worthy of respect.” Persephone turns to face the stoic Emissary. “Ascl--Elidibus,” she corrects herself. “If it be your wish, I shall not suffer you to remember.”

“That is just as well.” Elidibus clearly does not expect the woman’s next action to be placing her hand upon his cheek. She regards him with a warm smile.

“And yet, I will not simply ignore my own history,” she continues. “I cannot simply cease caring for you. So I will not attempt to. Consider mine a watchful presence over your continued efforts. You need not remember, yet you also need not walk alone. I still wish to work alongside you when I may, to keep an eye on your wellbeing if nothing else. Ever will you be a brother to me. That is not a fact of the past, but the present. Pray do not deny me it.”

The man stares at her for a few moments before sighing. “...So long as you do not impede my work, I take no issue with your request. I look forward to what we may accomplish together, Azem.”

“Call me Persephone,” she requests. Elidibus frowns, furrowing his brow. “It would make me most happy if you did. You need not fear forgetting--if you do, I shall simply remind you. Consider it a favour to celebrate our reunion?” Persephone gazes at him intently...as a dumbfounded smile slowly rises to Elidibus’ face.

“Insufferable. Undeterrable. You were ever the purest specimen of hero, and I see those traits carry forth. Very well. I will grant your wish. ...Persephone.”

The woman beams. “Thank you, Elidibus…” She pulls the man into a tight hug, startling him. He awkwardly places his arms around her back. Persephone does not witness the flush in his cheeks, but Hades does--and laughs, free and true. 

“Ah, so a sliver of the boy you once were is still receptive to her doting. How charming.” Though his words tease, his smile betrays no malice--rather, a fond nostalgia, lost in memories of days that once were--days that would be again. “What an utterly adorable Emissary we have.”

Elidibus scowls at him, but makes no effort to retort. Persephone giggles to herself.

“He is, isn’t he, love? I can almost--”

A sound steals away Persephone’s attention.

She abruptly stops herself in her tracks, smile wiped from her face. Her ears perk, and she wrests herself from Elidibus’ hold, pivoting towards the throne room doors. What was…?

“Is something amiss, Azem?” Hades asks with some concern, but the woman shushes him. She focuses on the sound...Yes. Unmistakable. The sound of multiple sets of heavy boots, clamoring against the ground in a rush. Someone--some _ones_ were running towards them. 

“A commotion…” She takes a few silent steps forward, straining her ears to hear. A voice.

_“...took advantage...slaughter………………...not for me…”_

Focusing with intent, she pinpoints the source of the voice behind the throne room doors. She materializes her staff. 

“There.” 

She yanks the figure towards her with ruthless force, an adaptation of a magick once meant to rescue those in need. There are a few muffled noises before the thundering impact of a body slams against the doors. The woman does not relent, and soon the force shoves the room’s doors wide open, a now-visible entity hurtling towards the throne. As it grows close, Persephone halts its acceleration with a blast of light magic, canceling its momentum and sending it tumbling down the stairs to the throne. It...Or rather _he_ , Persephone realizes, looking upon the bruised, bloodied man crumpled on the carpet. Bruised, bloodied...and panting, haltingly attempting to push himself on clenched fists. 

“To think you would manage to infiltrate the empire’s very royal palace…” The woman gives a small laugh, impressed. She walks down the stairs, looming over him. Her companions both move to join her, and it is Elidibus who speaks next.

“There should be no way a belligerent could draw so near this room. Not a one.” The man sighs. “What has possibly become of the guards?”

Hades kneels downwards, regarding the man was an amused smile. “I must confess, I never expected I would come face-to-face with you once more. Well met, Gaius Baelsar. Or did you prefer to be called Shadowhunter, these days?”

The once-proud Black Wolf manages to push himself to a semblance of a sitting position, regaining his bearings. He raises his head to meet Hades’ eyes, and the man could not look less surprised at what he saw.

“...Emperor Solus.” Gaius grits his teeth. “Which means Elidibus still inhabits the prince’s body, no doubt. Making you…” He casts his gaze at the woman before him, yet when he raises his head to behold her face, his eyes fly wide open. His voice is breathy. “...What?”

“Gaius!”

Shifting her staff to a lance in a flash, Persephone meets the man diving towards the group with a lance of his own. She deflects his blow, and he lands on his feet some distance back. The woman raises a brow. 

“Yours...is a surprising presence, Estinien,” she says with some confusion. When the new man locks his sight upon her, his eyes, too, widen.

“...Sahri?” Her fellow Azure Dragoon--former Azure Dragoon, that was--visibly balks, yet he does not relax his stance. Persephone frowns at the mention of that forsaken name.

“Do you know this one?” Hades asks her, once more rising to his feet. “What a motley crew you gather around you, my dear.” She thinks to retort, but the sound of Gaius shifting towards her draws her focus once more to the floor.

“You...Sahri. Warrior of Light. Are you responsible for the state of the palace’s forces?” 

“The palace’s forces?” She glances towards the hallway from which the men came, finding it littered in corpses--blood. She grimaces. “Good gods.”

“A slaughter...bereft of a culprit,” Elidibus muses aloud.

“Well, _someone_ must have done it.” Hades sounds already exasperated with the situation. 

“We already know the answer to that,” Persephone assures her husband, glowering down at the man before her. _Gaius Baelsar_...The mere name stoked her deepest resentment. Surrendering to her impulses, she gives him a swift kick to the gut, causing him to cry out in pain and double over. “Or do you seriously expect us to believe you are not responsible for this mess, Black Wolf?”

“He is not,” Estinien cuts in. “The man could never slaughter his own people without a second thought. It was this very chaos that allowed us to slip into the palace at all, Warrior of Light.” He narrows his eyes. “...Though that is not who you are, is it? It defies sense that it would be.” 

The woman smirks. “Does it, now? Ever sharp on the draw, Estinien.” 

“I would accuse you of utilizing a powerful glamour, yet I sense you are my kin in wielding Nidhogg’s strength.” It is subtle, but a momentary flicker of grief crosses his eyes. “You’ve harnessed her, then. Sahri is no more.”

“ _Sahri_ never existed,” Persephone counters harshly as she summons her glyph. “I am Azem, my purpose born anew.”

“A...Azem?” Gaius rights himself once more. What a stubborn man. “Emet-Selch, Lahabrea, Elidibus...Fandaniel, Deudalaphon...I know many names for an Ascian, but that is not among them.” 

“Done your research, have you? Your thoroughness made you such an excellent legatus.” Hades smirks down at the man. “I’ll allow you a small history lesson, then. Consider it a reward for your decades of service as the Black Wolf.” The man begins to pace about--as usual, he seems to be the only man unaffected by the tension in the room. 

“If you are the expert in our kind you seem to be, you doubtless are aware of our thirteen most elite seats,” he continues. “Yet there was another with which we once worked. A most peculiar woman--one who ventured far and wide, touching the hearts of all she met with her compassion. Our traveler. An adventurer, if you will.” Hades grins as realization slowly overtakes Gaius’ face. “It is little wonder she did much the same when her soul was reborn, felling dastardly villains such as yourself. Yet her conviction has once more met truth, and now Azem stands as new prey for the vaunted Shadowhunter.”

Gaius glares at Persephone with a vile hatred, a seething contempt. She does not think he even mustered so much towards her at the Praetorium. He was too wrapped up in his self-absorbed prattle about justice, and it seemed he might regale her with such once more. 

“The soul of an Ascian would explain your preternatural strength,” he growls. “You are her. The very same woman with which I clashed the day my life’s direction changed. Do not deny it--I see it in the very look of your eyes.”

“To believe in Eorzea is to believe in nothing,” Persephone quotes at the man, relishing the opportunity to turn his pompousness back upon him. “Your words proved most prescient, if for the wrong reasons. Despite all you claim to have changed, you fight for the same fatal misapprehension as you did then--that man is fit to own this world. I know better, now.” She extends her hand towards him. “I have found my strength to rule.” 

“To rule is the domain of a man, not a ghoul!” Gaius snaps. Persephone chuckles.

“How very glib.”

She shifts her icy lance to a rapier, giving Gaius a quick slash--and earning a stream of blood. Tragically, her next blow meets resistance, the lance carrying her old foe’s namesake blocking her path.

“I now know the nature of my foe. I will stay my lance no more.” Estinien leaps back, Persephone stepping over the wounded Gaius to follow. “You have lost yourself, as I once did. Perhaps any soul that would resonate with Nidhogg is fundamentally susceptible to such corruption. I pray you might too be freed from this thrall, and yet…” The man does not look hopeful.

“Freed? I assure you that I gave myself most willingly.” The woman once again holds her lance in her hands. “Your foray into espionage is over, Estinien. Do you truly intend to fight me? Here? You’re a shrewder man than that.” 

“Estinien!” Gaius shouts. “Do not engage them! Flee so you might spread what we’ve learned!” None acknowledge him.

“...I do intend to fight,” Estinien tells Persephone, yet he tips his hand with the slightest flicker of his eyes towards Gaius. Ah. He intended to secure the man and make his escape, no doubt. She would not allow it--her business with the Shadowhunter was not concluded. 

“We shall do this your way, then.” Persephone readies her own stance. “But do not expect this to end any differently than our last two duels.” 

“No--a duel would be wasteful.” Clattering metal heralds Elidibus to the woman’s side. The man draws his sword. “Allow us to dispose of this rat together.” He gives the woman a sidelong glance...and a small smile. Persephone beams back.

“My hero. I’ll allow you to take the lead, then, O Lord Prince.” Her lance returns to the shape of a staff, Persephone muttering an incantation under her breath before raising her weapon high. A faint green glow settles around Elidibus--powerful regenerative magicks. The Emissary looks himself over, clearly pleased. 

“Yes...This will be of immense assistance.” 

He takes his first step towards Estinien--and his first slash. The dragoon nimbly dodges, yet Persephone catches him unawares with a surge of light magic as he attempts to recover. The man reels, but does not fall, wasting no time in diving at the woman--aiming to eliminate the support first, no doubt. Elidibus dashes to intercept his path and parries the man’s lance, Nidhogg’s blood-red aura clashing against sparks of steel. Persephone attempts to intercept his landing, but this time Estinien is wiser, rolling away so as not to be caught in the blast. He stands to his feet--

\--and a bolt of shadow pierces through his chest. It leaves no visible wound, and yet Estinien’s lance clatters to the floor, the man doubling over into unconsciousness. Elidibus and Persephone both turn back to find Hades with his hand nonchalantly raised.

“...What? There was no need to prolong that. Why do you look at me so?” Hades sighs, rubbing his temples. “It’s not as if I _killed_ him. Fetch him from the gaol later if you wish to continue your little fight. I swear, the two of you are as children when put together…” The new combat partners share an embarrassed glance, relinquishing their weapons and returning to the man’s side. He looks down towards Gaius, now laying on his side as he clutches his wounds. Hades uses his foot to push the man onto his back.

“You’ve become a true nuisance. Do you know that, Gaius Baelsar?” He reaches down and pulls Gaius’s gunblade from his back, admiring it before throwing it to the side. “You target our brethren, wreak havoc on our ancillary facilities, and now this...infiltration.” Hades tuts. “I do thank you for presenting yourself to us on a platter. It is long since time we ended this. Do you not agree, Emissary? This one must be upsetting the star’s balance somehow.” 

Elidibus takes to Gaius’ side. “...Indeed. Let us follow Garlemald’s law--the punishment for treason is death.” 

Gaius’ face turns intense. “No! You will not have me, damnable fiends!” He struggles to rise, but Hades binds him with a blast of magic.

“I rather think we will. If you please, Elidibus.”

The Ascian raises his blade overhead, preparing to swing--yet a voice interrupts him.

“No. Allow me.”

The men look towards their female counterpart, finding her stalking towards the fallen wolf with her lance in hand. 

“Hm. I have no disagreements, so long as the job is done.” Hades shrugs, giving Elidibus a glance. He nods in assent, sheathing his blade and opening a path for the woman to walk. The loathing in her eyes is raw, unbridled. 

“You should have died at the Praetorium, _Baelsar_.” She hisses his name. “Not having finished you then and there is one of my greatest regrets. Today, I will make amends.”

“Why? Because your Ascian masters bid you to?” Gaius asks, low. “Or do you truly hate me so?”

“ _Hate_ you?” Persephone’s fists clench around her lance, quaking with rage. “Of course I hate you! You...You…!” Zodiark’s darkness swirling within blends with her anger, stokes it forward, filling her mind with image after image. The hideous wall which divided Eorzea betwixt two worlds, Lukah’s face as she explained she would not be able to meet her parents as she’d wished...The masks Gaius proudly wore on his person, touting her fallen brethren… “My family…” Which family? Which truly meant something? Which scarred her deep to her core? No. It didn’t matter. It didn’t matter… “Because of you, my family…!” 

Gaius’ eyes grow wide. “...That is right. I did hear that you originally hailed from Ala Mhigo…” He squeezes his eyes shut, lips drawn into a thin line. “...Was it I who killed your family? Even if not, I may just as well have. I do not expect forgiveness for my sins. Perhaps I only have myself to blame for driving you into their arms…” When he opens his eyes once more, they are filled with a most frustrating resolve. “Valedaulin will be cross with me. I’d hoped to accomplish more, but if this is how I pay for the suffering I’ve wrought, so be it. But allow me this, Sahri. You are a good-hearted woman. Let Estinien walk away. You share a deep bond, yes? Do not make him pay for my sins, as well.”

Persephone’s mouth falls agape. _Let Estinien walk away._ What…? She clenches her teeth, baring them with menace. 

“Damn you! You have no right to make _requests_!” She brings her lance down upon his chest, killing the man in an instant. His hands fall slack to his side. “You have no right to be _content_ in your _death_!” She pulls back and stabs again, this time in a different point of his chest. “Damn you, you cretin! Damn you!” she yells as she stabs her lance again and again, adding in slashes, fueled solely by rage. A thirst for his _blood._ And blood she gets, yet it only encourages her anger further. When she brings down her lance once more, a hand catches her wrist.

“That is _enough,_ Azem.” Hades is badly failing to hide the shock on his face, and Persephone’s blood runs cold. “He is dead. You need not mutilate the man. He may yet make a useful vessel.” 

Shame surges deep in the woman’s heart, looking upon her blood-soaked lance. She wills the weapon into nothing, arms falling to her side.

“...Of course. My apologies. I allowed myself to get carried away.” Her eyes drill a hole a into the carpeted floor. Thankfully, the blood blends in with its red colour. She expects Hades to scold her further, yet it is not his voice she hears next.

“Ah...I do not believe I have ever witnessed a more beautiful sight with mine own two eyes. How you imbibe yourself on Baelsar’s blood...At last, you have embraced the truth of your nature.” 

Persephone jolts her head aloft, struck by words which could only belong to a ghost. And yet, a new man stands before her--a common centurion with a katana, of all weapons, strapped to his waist. 

“You escaped the bloodbath?” she asks, incredulous. “And who are you, then?”

“How bitter to know you cannot perceive me as I truly am...And yet, such is the very purpose with which I have made my way home once more.” The centurion’s voice rises, and Persephone can imagine he is smiling. “The timing with which I have arrived is beyond fortuitous. No, our stars are forever intertwined, forever mingling as one, and fate herself has conspired to bring us together once more. My first friend. My enemy.” 

All breath leaves the woman’s body, the chill which had set in her blood turning to ice. It was not possible…

“How curious.” Hades takes a step forward, fascinated. “By all rights you should be dead, and yet here you are, alive and well. Did I not know better, I would think you one of our brethren. Come to toddle into my arms like in days of eld, dear great-grandson?” 

“You do not mean…” Elidibus closes his eyes, and when they reopen, he is utterly baffled. “To think one could achieve immortality on a _borrowed_ Echo…”

Persephone regains her composure. “Zenos yae Galvus. I should have known better than to think myself rid of you so easily. The power of the Resonant allows you to live once more?”

“Indeed, that seems to be the case,” Zenos confirms. “‘Twas not an outcome I had anticipated, and yet I now find myself supremely grateful for this opportunity.”

“To think your research progressed so far...I believe I’m even a tad proud.” Hades wears an inscrutable smile. “Certainly, you’ve accomplished far beyond anything Varis has done in his sorry life. And yet, I feel hesitant to celebrate--for I suspect I will rather not like the intent with which you stand before us, Zenos. Am I correct to assume you are responsible for the wanton death which has gripped our fair palace?” 

Zenos nods. “I hold but one desire, great-grandsire--to see myself returned to my true form, so that I may cross blades with my friend once more and relive that most transcendent of moments. Thus did I make for Garlemald--and yet, when I overheard _her_ melodious voice resonating from within the throne room, I could not but listen with rapturous attention. Baelsar and the Ishgardian provided a perfect opportunity to witness how you had grown, friend, and thus I hid in the shadows and allowed them to pass. And what a brilliant choice it was--You have not disappointed me, champion of the savages.”

“That is not who I am. Not anymore.” Persephone narrows her eyes. “I fight now for the reclamation of a world lost.” 

“So you say as the newest Ascian, and yet you cannot deceive me any more than you can yourself.” He throws his arms wide. “I beheld the glee with which you threw yourself at your old companion, eager to engage in the hunt. How you feasted on your prey, the departed Baelsar. Your joy for violence has lost its mask--Why else would you now work for the destruction of world upon world? Finally--Finally, you see as clearly as I do. And now, possessed of your own eternal life, we may continue this dance through the ages! My enemy. My friend. My soul’s matched pair.”

“...You are wrong.” A nausea sweeps through Persephone’s mortal form. “You...You and I are nothing alike, Zenos. Only man has the negligence and depravity to embrace violence for its own sake. I am beyond that. I act with intent. You act because your soul is warped beyond all sanity.”

“A disappointment that you continue to think so.” Zenos sighs. “Yet it matters not how you lie to yourself. The transcendence we find together shall remain unmatched.” He turns towards Elidibus, blade drawn. “Now. Return to me my body, Ascian, that I may reach my life’s apex once more.” He raises his blade, but falters when Persephone stands in his way.

“Did you imagine I would simply allow you to do that?” she asks Zenos, anger rising. “You will not lay a finger on Elidibus. No, you will be dead first.”

“Oh, how can I deny such fervor, such deep-set temptation?” Zenos asks, delighted. “This form will suffice, then, if it is what you so wish of me, my friend.” 

Persephone readies herself to spring into action...but she unexpectedly feels a pair of arms wrap around her waist. She glances upwards to find Hades regarding her with a warm smile, one that sends her heart melting at the strangest of moments. 

“My great-grandchild was never one to see reason,” he tells her, “and yet you need not accede to his games. He clearly holds an interest in you, and I feel a need to teach him a lesson...So allow us to take care of him together.”

“You will not stand in the way of my prize, great grandsire.” Zenos lunges at him, yet he finds himself repelled by an invisible shield. Gods...Persephone could not look away from Hades’ eyes. Somehow, they were unusually entrancing. His hold is so warm, and she sinks back into it. So warm...So warm, bodies meant to be one…

“I must admit, I was a touch jealous to see you leap into action at Elidibus’ side before mine.” Hades’ hold on her grows ever tighter. “Will you not grant me the privilege? Let us combine our strengths--our beings--into one.” 

“Combine our beings…?” Oh, Persephone slowly loses herself in those eyes, that smile…

“Yes. You witnessed Lahabrea and Igeyorhm perform such a feat, did you not?” 

A spark of recognition bursts Persephone’s mind to life. And yet…

“I know not how,” she confesses. The man shakes his head.

“For those whose souls are bonded, it is as simple as how a mortal breathes. Ease open the boundaries that enclose your being. I will do the same with mine…”

Persephone’s breathing grows rhythmic, surroundings fading to black--only she and Hades exist in this realm. Slowly, trembling, she moves one of her hands to rest on her husband’s own, the other rising to find Hades’ cheek...Love pounded in her heart for this man. Throughout all of eternity, the entire cosmos, he was all that truly mattered...Boundaries blur--they were one. One unit, one heart, one soul...They were one, and at that thought, the first thread slips free.

It is a small memory she sees--one of the many times she caused Hades to laugh in Amaurot, a moment by all standards utterly banal...And yet it is his. His memory. His feelings. It is his, and now hers. 

(A crystal of ice begins to form on the floor around them, suddenly bursting to engulf them up to the woman’s waist.)

A second thread slips, twines with his, weaves into one. Another memory. The man clutches a pair of earrings to his chest, a ruined world in every direction. He weeps. 

His joys, his sorrows...They were hers. What was his...was hers.

(The crystal surges anew, now reaching Persephone’s shoulders.)

The slippages accelerate, the memories flood forth, and the reunited lovers’ souls mesh and mold into one another in earnest. They are bound together, tied. Every connection of their beings a new burst of ecstasy, love and intimacy and _pleasure_ in how their edges clash, how they push and grind and bend in the sweltering heat of union. How they creak, how they _groan_ , how they meld...Every one of their experiences, every emotion they ever felt, every embarrassment, every scrape and ache, their deepest shames and loves, they now shared. No joy could match this. No sorrow could match this. No rapture could match this. She was...she was…

(Ice envelops them in full.)

...She was him. He was her. Her name Hades, and his Persephone. 

She... _They_ were…

... _They were Prime._

The crystal of ice explodes into pieces, purples and reds and blacks swirling in its wake as Elidibus looks on with the utmost interest. Even Zenos ceases his fruitless attacks to gaze upon the new, most terrifying creature.

“ **We are become one!** ” Hades and Persephones’ voices echo in twine, half of each glyph coming to life before the Ascian Prime’s face. Zenos hums, impressed.

“So you embrace monstrosity as I once did, my friend...Very well. If this is how you choose to face me, consider my appetite whet.”

The Ascian Prime’s voice bellows. 

“ **Foolish scion of Garlemald...Inheritor of my legacy…You deserve not the power with which you have been gifted. Beast of man...Emblem of their failures...** ”

“ **_We shall rend you mortal once more._ **”

…………………………………………………………………………………….

Zenos’ head throbs, eyes slowly blinking open as his consciousness emerges from inky black. How languid, how heavy his body felt...and yet it did not sear with pain. So the power of the Resonant gifted him yet another opportunity to face his dearest enemy in her new prime...Excellent. 

With sheer force of will, he pushes himself to a seated position. Unsurprisingly, as he observes himself, he finds his body unfamiliar. The centurion he once inhabited lays limply next to the bed upon which he rests. Dead. It never did serve him as well as the one to which he truly belonged. 

A glance about the room suggests a Garlean interior, though decidedly not of the royal type--a noble house, if the battered memories of his young education served him correctly. There is the sound of a set of feet walking up the stairs, and then a voice as a new figure rises into the room. 

“Oh, Prince Zenos!” The man grins with--no, not delight. Derangement. “I had begun to fear I swooped into action too late--that your soul had been banished to the ages. How gleeful I am to be proven wrong!”

“You know the truth of my nature, then.” Zenos looks the man over. His attire of choice, a stark white accented with red, once again suggested nobility. Black hair, black eyes...and features suggesting an origin in Othard. Yes, he was certain now. He had never seen this man in his life. “And who, exactly, are you to me?”

The man’s face falls agape. “What? And here I thought I had chosen a familiar face…” He shakes his head in exasperation. “If you would like to know, I am the only reason you are still able to talk here with me. You are most fortunate I kept a close eye on your encounter in the throne room. They intended to obliterate you completely, body and soul...So completely that they did not suspect a thing when I whisked you away at the last possible moment. How terrifying the unsundered become in their passion…”

“I see. I am glad, indeed, to still breathe. That was a battle beyond any I have ever known...A transcendent moment only marred by the limits of my flesh. It tired far too quickly.” Zenos pushes himself off the bed, taking the katana off his former corpse. “I must regain my body with all haste, that I may find perfection in the time between seconds--That my hunt will ever draw her fangs sharper.” He grins widely. “How beautiful they are, dripping with blood…” The prince strides towards the door, but frustratingly, the man in white steps into his path.

“Stop, stop, stop!” he whines, instantly boring Zenos. “Do you realize how much the palace has heightened its security since your intrusion? You’d be dead before you walked through the front gates!”

“And so I shall rise once more,” he responds, pushing the man aside. He dashes before Zenos yet again, this time extending his arms. 

“And draw all of Garlemald’s attention? You would be lucky if Emet-Selch brought only half our order to obliterate you! Even I could not save you from that!” When he sees he has caught the slightest hint of Zenos’ attention, the man instantly regains his composure, smiling smugly. “You will reclaim your body. Without his mummy and daddy to protect him, Elidibus will crumple with no effort at all. You must simply wait for the right opportunity to strike! Catch him alone. I can bring you directly to his side when the time comes--it will be finished before Elidibus has time to realize what has happened!” 

Zenos pauses, considering his words. “...Our order, you said. Does that make you an Ascian, as well?” A crimson glyph buzzes to life before his face, confirming his suspicions. 

“I am, in the technical sense...And yet I consider myself to be much like you,” the Ascian explains. “I hold no attachment, no bond to my supposed masters, the causes for which I am instructed to fight...No. How they waste their abilities, chasing after pointless dreams of a pointless past and a pointless future!” His eyes grow wide with his grin. “Better to let it all burn, I say!”

“...I care not, so long as your burning does not interfere with my hunt.”

“Oh, I’ll leave _her_ all to you,” the man assures him. “I swear, I will not touch a hair on her pretty little head!” 

Zenos sheaths his katana. “If you did, I would cleave you in half where you stand.” He folds his arms, impatient. “I will wait--but only for so long. This opportunity of yours had best come soon, else I will proceed with my own plans.” 

“Of course, of course!” The man clasps his hands together in delight. “I am tracking Elidibus every moment of every day--It will not be long before your moment arises!” He gestures towards the bed. “Pray rest in the meantime, won’t you? You must still use this body to overcome the Emissary, after all!” The prince begrudgingly takes his advice, sitting on the bed with a loud _thud_. He taps his foot, eager to get on with matters. How oddly his self-declared saviour regards him. 

“And by what name shall I refer to my new slavish manservant?” he inquires.

“Manservant? Why--Oh well, I suppose I am now.” The man laughs to himself. “In company, you must call me Asahi sas Brutus--’tis the name of the poor wretch whose body I inhabit.”

“But you, my Lord Zenos?” The man bows. “You may call me Fandaniel.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hoped you liked my Azem mask concept :3 I was proud of that one.
> 
> I do want to reiterate given the last segment that I'm not planning some multi-100k word epic with this, most of what seems like setup is likely just establishing possibilities for this version of the timeline that could be imagined and explored.
> 
> Wanna shout out my new friend Sarah @Corehealer for having given me a lot of feedback on my fics and generally being cool ^^ Her more abstract stuff inspired the end of this chapter a little, if you like my stuff you def should give [hers a read!](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Corehealer/pseuds/Corehealer/works?fandom_id=711325)
> 
> Also gotta thank @tamaffxiv for inspiring me with the EmetWoL Ascian Prime idea w/[this piece of art!](https://twitter.com/tamaffxiv/status/1337651919645339653)


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